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A GIRL'S LIFE
IN VIRGINIA
BEFORE THE WAR

Letitia M. Burwell

WITH SIXTEEN FULL-PAGE
ILLUSTRATIONS BY
William A. McCullough AND Jules Turcas

New York
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
PUBLISHERS

Copyright, 1895, by
Frederick A. Stokes Company.

DEDICATION.

Dedicated to my
nieces, who find in English
and American publications such expressions applied
to their ancestors as: "cruel slave-owners";
"inhuman retches"; "southern taskmasters";
"dealers in human souls," etc. From these they
will naturally recoil with horror. My own life
would have been embittered had I believed myself
to be descended front such monsters; and that
those who come after us may know the truth, I
wish to leave a record of plantation life as it was.
The truth may thus be preserved among a few,
and merited praise may be awarded to noble men
and virtuous women who have passed away.

A GIRL'S LIFE IN VIRGINIA
BEFORE THE WAR

CHAPTER I.

THAT my birthplace
should have been a
Virginia plantation, my lot in life cast on a
Virginia plantation, my ancestors, for nine
generations, owners of Virginia plantations,
remain facts mysterious and inexplicable
but to Him who determined the bounds of
our habitations, and said: "Be still, and
know that I am God."

Confined exclusively to a
Virginia plantation
during my earliest childhood, I
believed the world one vast plantation
bounded by negro quarters. Rows of white
cabins with gardens attached; negro men in
the fields; negro women sewing, knitting,
spinning, weaving, housekeeping in the
cabins; with negro children dancing, romping,
singing, jumping, playing around the

The master's residence -
as the negroes
called it, "the great house" - occupied a
central position and was handsome and
attractive, the overseer's being a plainer
house about a mile from this.

Each cabin had as much pine furniture as
the occupants desired, pine and oak being
abundant, and carpenters always at work for
the comfort of the plantation.

Bread, meat, milk, vegetables, fruit, and
fuel were as plentiful as water in the springs
near the cabin doors.

Among the negroes - one hundred - on
our plantation, many had been taught different
trades; and there were blacksmiths,
carpenters, masons, millers, shoemakers,
weavers, spinners, all working for themselves.
No article of their handicraft ever
being sold from the place, their industry
resulted in nothing beyond feeding and
clothing themselves.

My sister and myself,
when very small
children, were often carried to visit these
cabins, on which occasions no young princesses
could have received from admiring

subjects more adulation. Presents were laid
at our feet - not glittering gems, but eggs,
chestnuts, popcorn, walnuts, melons, apples,
sweet potatoes, - all their "cupboards " afforded, -
with a generosity unbounded. This
made us as happy as queens, and filled our
hearts with kindness and gratitude to our
dusky admirers.

Around the cabin doors the young negroes
would quarrel as to who should be his or
her mistress, some claiming me, and others
my sister.

All were merry-hearted, and among them
I never saw a discontented face. Their
amusements were dancing to the music of
the banjo, quilting-parties, opossum-hunting,
and sometimes weddings and parties.

Many could read, and in almost every,
cabin was a Bible. In one was a prayer-book,
kept by one of the men, a preacher,
from which he read the marriage ceremony
at the weddings. This man opened a night
school - charging twenty-five cents a week -
hoping to create some literary thirst in the
rising generation, whose members, however,
preferred their nightly frolics to the school,
so it had few patrons.

Our house servants were numerous, polite,
and well trained. My mother selected those
most obliging in disposition and quickest at
learning, who were brought to the house
at ten or twelve years of age, and instructed
in the branches of household employment.

These small servants were always dressed
in the cleanest, whitest, long-sleeved aprons,
with white or red turbans on their heads.
No establishment being considered complete
without a multiplicity of these, they
might be seen constantly darting about on
errands from the house to the kitchen and
the cabins, upstairs and downstairs, being,
indeed, omnipresent and indispensable.

It was the custom for a lady visitor to be
accompanied to her room at night by one of
these black, smiling "indispensables," who
insisted so good naturedly on performing all
offices - combing her hair, pulling off her
slippers, etc. - that one had not the heart to
refuse, although it would have been sometimes
more agreeable to be left alone.

The negroes were
generally pleased at the
appearance of visitors, from whom they
were accustomed to receive some present on

arriving or departing; the neglect of this rite
being regarded as a breach of politeness.

The old negroes were quite patriarchal,
loved to talk about "old times," and exacted
great respect from the young negroes, and
also from the younger members of the white
family. We called the old men "Uncle,"
and the old women "Aunt," - these being
terms of respect.

The atmosphere of our own home was one
of consideration and kindness. The mere
recital of a tale of suffering would make my
sister and myself weep with sorrow. And
I believe the maltreatment of one of our
servants - we had never heard the word
"slave" - would have distressed us beyond
endurance. We early learned that happiness
consisted in dispensing it, and found no
pleasure greater than saving our old dolls,
toys, beads, bits of cake or candy, for the
cabin children, whose delight at receiving
them richly repaid us. If any of the older
servants became displeased with us, we were
miserable until we had restored the old
smile by presenting some choice bit of sweetmeat
to the offended one.

mother scolded nurse Kitty, saying: "Kitty,
the butler tells me you disturb the breakfast
cream every morning by dipping out
milk to wash your face," I burst into tears
and thought it hard that, when there were so
many cows, poor Kitty could not wash her
face in milk. Kitty had been told that her
dark skin would be improved by a milk
bath, which she had not hesitated to dip
every morning from the breakfast buckets.

At such establishments one easily acquired
a habit of being waited upon, there being
so many servants with so little to do. It
was natural to ask for a drink of water when
the water was right at hand, and to have
things brought which you might easily have
gotten yourself. But these domestics were
so pleased at such errands, one felt no hesitation
in requiring them. A young lady
would ask black Nancy or Dolly to fan her,
whereupon Nancy or Dolly would laugh
good-naturedly, produce a large palm-leaf,
and fall to fanning her young mistress
vigorously, after which she would be rewarded
with a bow of ribbon, some candy,
or sweet cakes.

selling their own vegetables, poultry, eggs,
etc., - produced at the master's expense, of
course. I often saw my mother take out
her purse and pay them liberally for fowls,
eggs, melons, sweet potatoes, brooms,
shuck mats, and split baskets. The men
made small crops of tobacco or potatoes
for themselves on any piece of ground they
chose to select.

My mother and grandmother were almost I
always talking over the wants of the negroes,
- what medicine should be sent, whom they
should visit, who needed new shoes, clothes,
or blankets, - the principal object of their I
lives seeming to be in providing these comforts.
The carriage was often ordered for I
them to ride around to the cabins to distribute
light-bread, tea, and other necessaries
among the sick. And besides employing
the best doctor, my grandmother
always saw that they received the best nursing
and attention.

In this little plantation world of ours was
one being - and only one - who inspired
awe in every heart, being a special terror
to small children. This was the queen of
the kitchen, Aunt Christian, who reigned

supreme. She wore the whitest cotton cap
with the broadest of ruffles; she was very
black and very portly; and her scepter was a
good-sized stick, kept to chastise small dogs
and children who invaded her territory. Her
character, however, having been long established,
she had not often occasion to use
this weapon, as these enemies kept out of
her way.

Her pride was great, "for," said she, "aint
I bin - long fo' dis yer little marster whar is
was born - bakin' de bes' loaf bread, an' bes'
beat biscuit and rice waffles, all de time in
my ole marster time? An' I bin manage
my own affa'rs, an' I gwine manage my
own affa'rs long is I got breff. Kase I
'members 'way back yonder in my mammy
time fo' de folks come fum de King's Mill
plantation nigh Williamsbu'g. All our black
folks done belonks to de Burl fambly uver
sence dey come fum Afiky. My granmammy
'member dem times when black
folks lan' here stark naked, an' white folks
hab to show 'em how to war close. But we
all done come fum all dat now, an' I gwine
manage my own affa'rs."

affa'rs," and, being a pattern of neatness
and industry, her fame went abroad from
Botetourt even unto the remotest ends of
Mecklenburg County.

That this marvelous cooking was all the
work of her own hands I am, in later years,
inclined to doubt; as she kept several assistants -
a boy to chop wood, beat biscuit, scour
tables, lift off pots and ovens; one woman
to make the pastry, and another to compound
cakes and jellies. But her fame was
great, her pride lofty, and I would not now
pluck one laurel from her wreath.

This honest woman was appreciated by
my mother, but we had no affinity for her
in consequence of certain traditions on the
plantation about her severity to children.
Having no children of her own, a favorite
orphan house-girl, whenever my mother
went from home, was left to her care. This
girl - now an elderly woman, and still our
faithful and loved servant - says she remembers
to this day her joy at my mother's
return home, and her release from Aunt
Christian. "I nuver will forgit," to use her
own words, "how I use to watch for de
carriage to bring miss home, an' how I watch

Smiling faces always welcomed us home,
as the carriage passed through the plantation,
and on reaching the house we were
received by the negroes about the yard
with the liveliest demonstrations of pleasure.

CHAPTER II.

IT was a long time
before it dawned upon
my mind that there were places and people
different from these. The plantations we
visited seemed exactly like ours. The
same hospitality was everywhere; the same
kindliness existed between the white family
and the blacks.

One day, while my mother was in the
yard attending to the planting of some
shrubbery, we saw approaching an old,
feeble negro man, leaning upon his stick.
His clothes were nearly worn out, and he
was haggard and thin.

"Good-day, mistess," said he.

"Who are you?" asked my mother.

"Mistess, you don't know John whar use
to belonks to Mars Edwin Burl - Mars
Edwin, yo' husban' uncle, whar die on de

ocean crossin' to Europe for he health. An'
'fo' he start he make he will an' sot me free,
an' gie me money an' lan' near Petersbu'g,
an' good house, too. But, mistess, I marry
one free mulatto 'oman, an' she ruin me;
she one widow 'oman, an' she was'e all my
money tell I sent got nothin', an' I don't
want be free no mo'. Please, mistess, take
me on yo' plantation, an' don't let me be
free. I done walk hund'ed mile to git yer.
You know Mars Edwin think Miss Betsy
gwine marry him, so he lef' her his lan'
an' black folks. But we niggers knowed
she done promis' twelve mo' gen'men
to marry 'em. But she take de propity
an' put on long black veil make like she
grievin', an' dat's how de folks all git scattered,
an' I aint got nowhar to go 'ceptin'
hit's yer."

I wondered what was meant by being
"free" and supposed from his appearance
it must be some very dreadful and unfortunate
condition of humanity. My mother
heard him very kindly, and directed him to
the kitchen, where "Aunt Christian" would
give him plenty to eat.

negroes to be supported, who no longer
considered themselves young enough to
work, this old man was added to the
number, and a cabin built for him. To the
day of his death he expressed gratitude to
my mother for taking care of him, and often
entertained us with accounts of his "old
marster times," which he said were the
"grandes' of all."

By way of apology for certain knotty
excrescences on his feet he used to say:
"You see dese yer knots. Well, dey come
fum my bein' a monsus proud young
nigger, an' squeezin' my feet in de tightes'
boots to drive my marster carriage 'bout
Petersbu'g. I nuver was so happy as when
I was drivin' my coach an' four, and
crackin' de postilion over de head wid my
whip."

These pleasant reminiscences were generally
concluded with: "Ah! young misses,
you'll nuver see sich times. No more postilions!
No more coach an' four! And
niggers drives now widout white gloves.
Ah! no, young misses, you'll nuver see
nothin'! Nuver in your time."

Each generation of blacks vied with the
other in extolling the virtues of their particular
mistress and master and "their
times"; but, notwithstanding this mournful
contrast between the past and present, their
reminiscences had a certain charm. Often
by their cabin firesides would we listen to
the tales of the olden days about our forefathers,
of whom they could tell much, having
belonged to our family since the landing
of the African fathers on the English slave
ships, from which their ancestors had been
bought by ours. Among these traditions
none pleased us so much as that an unkind
mistress or master had never been known
among our ancestors, which we have always
considered a cause for greater pride than the
armorial bearings left on their tombstones.

We often listened with pleasure to the
recollections of an old blind man - the
former faithful attendant of our grandfather -
whose mind was filled with vivid pictures
of the past. He repeated verbatim conversations
and speeches heard sixty years before -
from Mr. Madison, Mr. Jefferson, Mr.

"Yes," he used to say, "I stay wid your
grandpa ten years in Congress, an' all de
time he was secretary for President Jefferson.
He nuver give me a cross word, an' I
nuver saw your grandma de leas' out of
temper nuther but once, an' dat was at a
dinner party we give in Washington, when
de French Minister said something disrespectful
'bout de United States."

Often did he tell us: "De greates' pleasure
I 'specs in heaven is seein' my old
marster." And sometimes: " I dreams 'bout
my marster an' mistess when I'se asleep,
an' talks wid 'em an' sees 'em so plain it
makes me so happy I laughs out right loud."

This man was true and honest, - a good
Christian. Important trusts had been confided to him.
He frequently drove the
carriage and horses to Washington and
Baltimore, - a journey of two weeks, - and
was sometimes sent to carry large sums of
money to a distant county.

His wife, who had accompanied him in
her youth to Washington, also entertained
us with gossip about the people of that day,

and could tell exactly the size and color of
Mrs. Madison's slippers, how she was dressed
on certain occasions, "what beautiful
manners she had," how Mr. Jefferson received
master and mistress when "we"
drove up to Monticello, what room they
occupied, etc.

Although my grandfather's death occurred
thirty years before, the negroes still
remembered it with sorrow; and one of
them, speaking of it, said to me: "Ah, little
mistess, 'twas a sorrowful day when de
news come from Washington dat our good,
kind marster was dead. A mighty wail went
up from dis plantation, for we know'd we
had los' our bes' friend."

The only negro on the place who did not
evince an interest in the white family was a
man ninety years old, who, forty years before,
announced his intention of not working
any longer, although still strong and athletic, -
because, he said, "the estate had done
come down so he hadn't no heart to work
no longer." He remembered, he said,
"when thar was three an' four hund'ed
black folks, but sence de British debt had to
be paid over by his old marster, an' de

Macklenbu'g estate had to be sold, he hadn't
had no heart to do nothin' sence." And
"he hadn't seen no real fine white folks -
what he called real fine white folks - sence
he come from Macklenbu'g." All his interest
in life having expired with an anterior
generation, we were in his eyes but a poor
set, and he refused to have anything to do
with us. Not being compelled to work, he
passed his life principally in the woods, and
wore a rabbit-skin cap and a leather apron.
Having lost interest in and connection with
the white family, he gradually relapsed into
a state of barbarism, refusing toward the
end of his life to sleep in his bed, preferring
a hard bench in his cabin, upon which he
died.

Another very old man remembered something
of his father, who had come from
Africa; and when we asked him to tell us
what he remembered of his father's narrations,
would say:

"My daddy tell we chillun how he
mammy liv' in hole in de groun' in Afiky, an'
when a Englishmun come to buy him, she
sell him fur a string o' beads. An' 'twas
monsus hard when he fus' come here to war

close; ev'y chance he git he pull off he close
an' go naked, kase folks don't war no close
in he country. When daddy git mad wid
we chillun, mammy hide us, kase he kill us.
Sometime he say he gwine sing he country,
an' den he dance an' jump an' howl tell
he skeer we chillun to deaf."

They spoke always of their forefathers as
the "outlandish people."

On some plantations it was a custom to
buy the wife when a negro preferred to
marry on another estate. And in this way
we became possessed of a famous termagant,
who had married our grandfather's gardener,
quarreled him to death in one year, and survived
to quarrel forty years longer with the
other negroes. She allowed no children
about her cabin - not even a cat or dog
could live with her. She had been offered
her freedom, but refused to accept it.
Several times she had been given away - once
to her son, a free man, and to others with
whom she fancied she might live - but, like
the bad penny, was always returned to us.
She always returned in a cart, seated on top
of her wooden chest and surrounded by her
goods and chattels; She was dressed in a

high hat with a long black plume standing
straight up, gay cloth spencer, and short
petticoat, - the costume of a hundred years
ago. Although her return was a sore affliction
to the plantation, my sister and myself
found much amusement in witnessing it.
The cold welcome she received seemed not
to affect her spirits, but, re-establishing herself
in her cabin, she quickly resumed the
turbulent course of her career.

Finally one morning the news came that
this woman, old Clara, was dead. Two
women went to sweep her cabin and perform
the last sad offices. They waited all
day for the body to get cold. While sitting
over the fire in the evening, one of them,
happening to glance at a small mirror inserted
in the wall near the bed, exclaimed:
"Old Clara's laughing!" They went nearer,
and there was a horrible grin on the face of
the corpse! Old Clara sprang out of bed,
exclaiming: "Git me some meat and bread.
I'm most perish'd!"

"Ole 'oman, what you mean by foolin'
us so?" asked the nurses.

"I jes' want see what you all gwine do
wid my things when I was dade!" replied

the old woman, whose "things" consisted
of all sorts of old and curious spencers, hats,
plumes, necklaces, caps, and dresses, collected
during her various wanderings, and
worn by a generation long past.

Among these old cabin legends we sometimes
collected bits of romance, and were
often told how, by the coquetry of a certain
Richmond belle, we had lost a handsome
fortune, which impressed me even then with
the fatal consequences of coquetry.

This belle engaged herself to our great-uncle,
a handsome and accomplished gentleman,
who, to improve his health, went to
Europe, but before embarking made his
will, leaving her his estate and negroes. He
died abroad, and the lady accepted his
property, although she was known to have
been engaged to twelve others at the same
time! The story in Richmond ran that
these twelve gentlemen - my grandfather
among them - had a wine party, and toward
the close of the evening some of them, becoming
communicative, began taking each
other out to tell a secret, when it was discovered
they all had the same secret - each
was engaged to Miss Betsy McC . . . This

lady's name is still seen on fly leaves of old
books in our library, - books used during her
reign by students at William and Mary College, -
showing that the young gentlemen,
even at that venerable institution, sometimes
allowed their classic thoughts to wander.

CHAPTER III.

As soon as my sister
and myself had
learned to read and cipher, we were inspired
with a desire to teach the negroes who were
about the house and kitchen; and my
father promised to reward my sister with a
handsome guitar if she would teach two
boys - designed for mechanics - arithmetic.

Our regular system was every night to
place chairs around the dining-table, ring a
bell, and open school, she presiding at one
end of the table and I at the other, each
propped up on books to give us the necessary
height and dignity for teachers.

Our school proved successful. The boys
learned arithmetic, and the guitar was
awarded. All who tried learned to read,
and from that day we have never ceased to
teach all who desired to learn.

Thus my early life was passed amid scenes
cheerful and agreeable, nor did anyone seem
to have any care except my mother. Her

cares and responsibilities were great, with
one hundred people continually upon her
mind, who were constantly appealing to her
in every strait, real or imaginary. But it had
pleased God to place her here, and nobly
did she perform the duties of her station.
She often told us of her distress on realizing
for the first time the responsibilities devolving
upon the mistress of a large plantation,
and the nights of sorrow and tears these
thoughts had given her.

On her arrival at the plantation after her
marriage, the negroes received her with
lively demonstrations of joy, clapping their
hands and shouting: "Thank God, we got
a mistess!" some of them throwing themselves
on the ground at her feet in their
enthusiasm.

The plantation had been without a master
or mistress for twelve years, my father, the
sole heir, having been away at school and
college. During this time the silver had
been left in the house, and the servants
had kept and used it, but nothing had been
stolen.

The books, too had been undisturbed in
the library, except a few volumes of the poets,

It was known by the negroes that their
old master's will set them free and gave
them a large body of land in the event of
my father's death; and some of his college
friends suggested that he might be killed
while passing his vacations on his estate.
But this only amused him, for he knew too
well in what affection he was held by his
negroes, and how each vied with the other
in showing him attention, often spreading
a dinner for him at their cabins when he
returned from hunting or fishing.

I think I have written enough to show the
mutual affection existing between the white
and black races, and the abundant provision
generally made for the wants of those whom
God had mysteriously placed under our
care.

The existence of extreme want and
poverty had never entered my mind until
one day my mother showed us some pictures
entitled "London Labor and London
Poor," when we asked her if she believed
there were such poor people in the world,
and she replied: "Yes, children, there are

Still we could not realize what she said,
for we had never seen a beggar. But from
that time it began to dawn upon us that all
the world was not a plantation, with more
than enough on it for people to eat. And
when we were old enough to read and to compare
our surroundings with what we learned
about other countries, we found that our
laboring population was more bountifully
supplied than that of any other land. We
read about "myriads of poor, starving creatures,
with pinched faces and tattered garments,"
in far-off cities and countries. We
read of hundreds who, from destitution and
wretchedness, committed suicide. We read
these things, but could not fully sympathize
with such want and suffering; for it is necessary
to witness these in order to feel the
fullest sympathy, and we had never seen
anything of the kind on our own or our
neighbors' plantations.

Our negroes' religious instruction, I found
had not been more neglected than among
the lower classes in England, Ireland,
France, and elsewhere. Every church -

there was one of some denomination near
every plantation - had special seats reserved
for the negroes. The minister always addressed
a portion of his sermon particularly
to them, and held service for them exclusively
on Sabbath afternoons. Besides,
they had their own ministers among themselves,
and held night prayer-meetings in
their cabins whenever they chose.

Many prayers ascended from earnest hearts
for their conversion, and I knew no home at
which some effort was not made for their
religious instruction.

One of our friends - a Presbyterian minister
and earnest Christian - devoted the
greater part of his time to teaching and
preaching to them, and many pious ministers
throughout the State bestowed upon
them time and labor.

I once attended a gay party where the
young lady of the house, the center of attraction,
hearing that one of the negroes
was suddenly very ill, excused herself from
the company, carried her prayer-book to the
cabin, and passed the night by the bedside
of the sick man, reading and repeating verses
to him. I have also had young lady friends

who declined attending a wedding or party
when a favorite servant was ill.

On one occasion an English gentleman -
a surgeon in the Royal Artillery - visiting at
our house, accompanied us to a wedding,
and, hearing that two young ladies had not
attended on account of the illness of a negro
servant, said to me: "This would not have
occurred in England, and will scarcely be
believed when I tell it on my return."

The same gentleman expressed astonishment
at one of our neighbors sitting up all
night to nurse one of his negroes who was
ill. He was amused at the manner of our
servants' identifying themselves with the
master and his possessions, always speaking
of "our horses,"
"our cows,"
"our crop,"
"our mill," "our blacksmith's shop,"
"our
carriage," "our black folks," etc. He told
us that he also observed a difference between
our menials and those of his own
country, in that, while here they were individualized,
there they were known by the
names of "Boots," "'Ostler,"
"Driver,"
"Footman," "Cook,"
"Waiter," "Scullion,"
etc. On our plantations the most insignificant
stable-boy felt himself of some importance.

When I heard Mr. Dickens read scenes
from "Nicholas Nickleby," the tone of voice
in which he personated Smike sent a chill
through me, for I had never before heard the
human voice express such hopeless despair.
Can there be in England, thought I, human
beings afraid of the sound of their own
voices?

There was a class of men in our State who
made a business of buying negroes to sell
again farther south. These we never met,
and held in horror. But even they, when
we reflect, could not have treated them with
inhumanity; for what man would pay a
thousand dollars for a piece of property, and
fail to take the best possible care of it? The
"traders" usually bought their negroes when
an estate became involved, for the owners
could not be induced to part with their
negroes until the last extremity - when
everything else had been seized by their
creditors. Houses, lands, - everything went
first before giving up the negroes; the
owner preferring to impoverish himself in
the effort to keep and provide for these, -
which was unwise financially, and would not
have been thought of by a mercenary people.

But it was hard to part with one's "own
people," and to see them scattered. Still our
debts had to be paid, - often security debts
after the death of the owner, when all had
to be sold. And who of us but can remember
the tears of anguish caused by this, and
scenes of sorrow to which we can never
revert without the keenest grief? Yet, like
all events in this checkered human life, even
these sometimes turned out best for the
negroes, when by this means they exchanged
unpleasant for agreeable homes. Still it
appeared to me a great evil, and often did
I pray that God would make us a way of
escape from it. But His ways are past finding
out, and why He had been pleased to
order it thus we shall never know.

Instances of harsh or cruel treatment were
rare. I never heard of more than two
or three individuals who were "hard" or
unkind to their negroes, and these were
ostracized from respectable society, their
very names bringing reproach and blight
upon their descendants.

We knew of but one instance of cruelty on
our plantation, and that was when "Uncle
Joe," the blacksmith, burned his nephew's

CHAPTER IV.

THE extent of these
estates precluding the
possibility of near neighbors, their isolation
would have been intolerable but for the
custom of visiting which prevailed among
us. Many houses were filled with visitors
the greater part of the year, and these usually
remained two or three weeks. Visiting tours
were made in our private carriages, each
family making at least one such tour a year.
Nor was it necessary to announce these visits
by message or letter, each house being considered
always ready, and "entertaining
company" being the occupation of the
people. Sometimes two or three carriages
might be descried in the evening coming up
to the door through the Lombardy poplar
avenue, - the usual approach to many old
houses; whereupon ensued a lively flutter
among small servants, who, becoming generally
excited, speedily got them into their
clean aprons, and ran to open gates and to

remove parcels from carriages. Lady visitors
were always accompanied by colored maids,
although sure of finding a superfluity of these
at each establishment. The mistress of the
house always received her guests in the front
porch, with a sincere and cordial greeting.

These visiting friends at my own home
made an impression upon me that no time
can efface. I almost see them now, those
dear, gentle faces, my mother's early friends,
and those delightful old ladies, in close bordered
tarlatan caps, who used to come to
see my grandmother. These last would sit
round the fire, knitting and talking over their
early memories: how they remembered the
red coats of the British; how they had seen
the Richmond theater burn down, with some
of their family burned in it; how they used
to wear such beautiful turbans of crêpe lisse to
the Cartersville balls, and how they used to
dance the minuet. At mention of this my
grandmother would lay off her spectacles,
put aside her knitting, rise with dignity, - she
was very tall, - and show us the step of the
minuet, gliding slowly and majestically
around the room. Then she would say:
"Ah, children, you will never see anything

as graceful as the minuet. Such jumping
around as you see would not have been
regarded as dignified in my day!"

My mother's friends belonged to a later
generation, and were types of women whom
to have known I shall ever regard as a blessing
and privilege. They combined intelligence
with exquisite refinement; and their
annual visits gave my mother the greatest
happiness, which we soon learned to share
and appreciate.

As I look upon these ladies as models for
our sex through all time, I enumerate some
of their charms:

Entire absence of pretense made them
always attractive. Having no "parlor" or
"company" manners to assume, they preserved
at all times a gentle, natural, easy
demeanor and conversation. They had not
dipped into the sciences, attempted by some
of our sex at the present day; but the study
of Latin and French, with general reading in
their mother tongue, rendered them intelligent
companions for cultivated men. They
also possessed the rare gift of reading well
aloud, and wrote letters unsurpassed in penmanship
and style.

Italian and German professors being rare
in that day, their musical acquirements did
not extend beyond the simplest piano
accompaniments to old English and Scotch
airs, which they sang in a sweet, natural
voice, and which so enchanted the beaux of
their time that the latter never afterward
became reconciled to any higher order of
music.

These model women also managed their
household affairs admirably, and were uniformly
kind to, but never familiar with, their
servants. They kept ever before them the
Bible as their constant guide and rule in
life, and were surely, as nearly as possible,
holy in thought, word, and deed. I have
looked in vain for such women in other
lands, but have failed to find them.

Then there were old gentlemen visitors,
beaux of my grandmother's day, still wearing
queues, wide-ruffled bosoms, short breeches,
and knee buckles. These pronounced the
a
very broad, sat a long time over their wine
at dinner, and carried in their pockets gold
or silver snuffboxes presented by some
distinguished individual at some remote
period.

Our visiting acquaintance extended from
Botetourt County to Richmond, and among
them were jolly old Virginia gentlemen
and precise old Virginia gentlemen; eccentric
old Virginia gentlemen and prosy old
Virginia gentlemen; courtly old Virginia
gentlemen and plain-mannered old Virginia
gentlemen; charming old Virginia gentlemen
and uninteresting old Virginia gentlemen.
Many of them had graduated years
and years ago at William and Mary College.

Then we had another set, of a later day, -
those who graduated in the first graduating
class at the University of Virginia when
that institution was first established. These
happened - all that we knew - to have
belonged to the same class, and often
amused us, without intending it, by reverting
to that fact in these words:

"That was a remarkable class! Every
man in that class made his mark in law,
letters, or politics! Let me see: There was
Toombs. There was Charles Mosby. There
was Alexander Stuart. There was Burwell.
There was R. M. T. Hunter," - and so on,
calling each by name except himself, knowing
that the others never failed to do that!

Edgar Poe and Alexander Stephens of
Georgia were also at the university with
these gentlemen.

Although presenting an infinite variety of
mind, manner, and temperament, all the
gentlemen who visited us, young and old,
possessed in common certain characteristics,
one of which was a deference to ladies which
made us feel that we had been put in the
world especially to be waited upon by them.
Their standard for woman was high. They
seemed to regard her as some rare and costly
statue set in a niche to be admired and never
taken down.

Another peculiarity they had in common
was a habit - which seemed irresistible - of
tracing people back to the remotest generation,
and appearing inconsolable if ever they
failed to find out the pedigree of any given
individual for at least four generations.
This, however, was an innocent pastime,
from which they seemed to derive much
pleasure and satisfaction, and which should
not be regarded, even in this advanced age,
as a serious fault.

Among our various visitors was a kinsman -
of whom I often heard, but whom I

do not recollect - a bachelor of eighty years,
always accompanied by his negro servant as
old as himself. Both had the same name,
Louis, pronounced like the French, and
this aged pair had been so long together
they could not exist apart. Black Louis
rarely left his master's side, assisting in the
conversation if his master became perplexed
or forgetful. When his master talked in the
parlor, black Louis always planted his chair
in the middle of the doorsill, every now and
then correcting or reminding with: "Now,
marster, dat warn't Colonel Taylor's horse
dat won dat race dat day. You and me was
dar." Or: "Now, marster, you done forgot
all 'bout dat. Dat was in de year 1779, an'
dis is de way it happened," etc., much to the
amusement of the company assembled. All
this was said, I am told, most respectfully,
although the old negro in a manner, possessed
his master, having entire charge and command
of him.

The negroes often felt great pride in
"our white people," as they called their
owners, and loved to brag about what "our
white people" did and what "our white
people" had.

On one occasion it became necessary for
my sister and myself to ride a short distance
in a public conveyance. A small colored
boy, who helped in our dining room, had to
get in the same stage. Two old gentlemen,
strangers to us, sitting opposite, supposing
we had fallen asleep when we closed our
eyes to keep out the dust, commenced talking
about us. Said one to the other: "Now,
those children will spoil their Sunday bonnets."
Whereupon our colored boy spoke
up quickly: "Umph! you think dem's my
mistesses' Sunday bonnets? Umph! you
jes' ought to see what dey got up dar on
top de stage in dar bandbox!" At this
we both laughed, for the boy had never seen
our "Sunday bonnets," nor did he know
that we possessed any.

CHAPTER V.

ENGLISH books never
fail to make honorable
mention of a "roast of beef," "a leg
of mutton," "a dish of potatoes," "a dish
of tea," etc., while with us the abundance
of such things gave them, we thought, not
enough importance to be particularized.
Still my reminiscences extend to these.

Every Virginia housewife knew how to
compound all the various dishes in Mrs.
Randolph's cookery book, and our tables
were filled with every species of meat and
vegetable to be found on a plantation, with
every kind of cakes, jellies, and blanc-mange
to be concocted out of eggs, butter, and
cream, besides an endless catalogue of preserves,
sweetmeats, pickles, and condiments.
So that in the matter of good living,
both as to abundance and the manner
of serving, a Virginia plantation could not
be excelled.

there was always a hot loaf for breakfast,
hot corn bread for dinner, and a hot loaf for
supper. Every house was famed for its
loaf bread, and said a gentleman once to
me: "Although at each place it is superb,
yet each loaf differs from another loaf,
preserving distinct characteristics which
would enable me to distinguish, instantly,
should there be a convention of loaves, the
Oaklands loaf from the Greenfield loaf, and
the Avenel loaf from the Rustic Lodge
loaf."

And apropos of this gentleman, who, it
is needless to add, was a celebrated connoisseur
in this matter of loaf bread, it was a
noticeable fact with our cook that whenever
he came to our house, the bread in trying
to do its best always did its worst!

Speaking of bread, another gentleman
expressed his belief that at the last great
day it will be found that more housewives
will be punished on account of light-bread
than anything else; for he knew some who
were never out of temper except when the
light-bread failed!

Time would fail me to dwell, as I should,
upon the incomparable rice waffles, and

beat biscuit, and muffins, and laplands, and
marguerites, and flannel cakes, and French
rolls, and velvet rolls, and lady's fingers
constantly brought by relays of small servants,
during breakfast, hot and hotter from
the kitchen. Then the tea-waiters handed
at night, with the beef tongue, the sliced
ham, the grated cheese, the cold turkey,
the dried venison, the loaf bread buttered
hot, the batter cakes, the crackers, the quince
marmalade, the wafers, - all pass in review
before me.

The first time I ever heard of a manner
of living different from this was when it
became important for my mother to make
a visit to a great-aunt in Baltimore, and
she went for the first time out of her native
State; as neither she nor her mother had
ever been out of Virginia. My mother was
accompanied by her maid, Kitty, on this
expedition, and when they returned both
had many astounding things to relate. My
grandmother threw up her hands in amazement
on hearing that some of the first
ladies in the city, who visited old aunt, confined
the conversation of a morning call to
the subject of the faults of their hired servants.

"Is it possible?" exclaimed the
old lady. "I never considered it well bred
to mention servants or their faults in company."

Indeed, in our part of the world, a mistress
became offended if the faults of her
servants were alluded to, just as persons
become displeased when the faults of their
children are discussed.

Maid Kitty's account of this visit I will
give, as well as I can remember, in her own
words, as she described it to her fellow-servants:
"You nuver see sich a way fur
people to live! Folks goes to bed in Baltimore
'thout a single moufful in de house to
eat. An' dey can't get nothin' neither
'thout dey gits up soon in de mornin' an'
goes to market after it deyselves. Rain,
hail, or shine, dey got to go. 'Twouldn't
suit our white folks to live dat
way! An'
I wouldn't live dar not for nothin' in dis
worl'. In dat fine three-story house dar
aint but bar' two servants, an' dey has to
do all de work. 'Twouldn't suit me,
an' I
wouldn't live dar not for nothin' in dis
whole creation. I would git dat
lonesome
I couldn't stan' it. Bar' two servants! an'

Maid Kitty spoke truly when she said
she had never seen two women do all the
housework. For at home often three
women would clean up one chamber. One
made the bed, while another swept the
floor, and a third dusted and put the chairs
straight. Labor was divided and subdivided;
and I remember one woman whose
sole employment seemed to be throwing
open the blinds in the morning and rubbing
the posts of my grandmother's high bedstead.
This rubbing business was carried
quite to excess. Every inch of mahogany
was waxed and rubbed to the highest state
of polish, as were also the floors, the brass
fenders, irons, and candlesticks.

When I reflect upon the degree of comfort
arrived at in our homes, I think we
should have felt grateful to our ancestors;
for, as Quincy has written: "In whatever
mode of existence man finds himself, be it

savage or civilized, he perceives that he is
indebted for the greater part of his possessions
to events over which he had no control;
to individuals whose names, perhaps,
never reached his ear; to sacrifices which
he never shared. How few of all these
blessings do we owe to our own power or
prudence! How few on which we cannot
discern the impress of a long past generation!"
So we were indebted for our agreeable
surroundings to the heroism and sacrifices
of past generations, which not to venerate
and eulogize betrays the want of a
truly noble soul. For what courage, what
patience, what perseverance, what long
suffering, what Christian forbearance, must
it have cost our great-grandmothers to
civilize, Christianize, and elevate the naked,
savage Africans to the condition of good
cooks and respectable maids! They - our
great-grandmothers - did not enjoy the
blessed privilege even of turning their
servants off when inefficient or disagreeable,
but had to keep them through life.
The only thing was to bear and forbear, and

If in heaven there be one seat higher than
another, it must be reserved for those true
Southern matrons, who performed conscientiously
their part assigned them by God -
civilizing and instructing this race.

I have searched missionary records of all
ages, but find no results in Africa or elsewhere
at all comparing with the grand work
accomplished for the African race in out
Southern homes.

Closing the last chapter of "Explorations
in the Dark Continent," the thought came
to me that it would be well if our African
friends in America would set apart another
anniversary to celebrate "the landing of
their fathers on the shores of America,"
when they were bought and domiciled in
American homes. This must have been
God's own plan for helping them, although
a severe ordeal for our ancestors.

In God's own time and way the shackles
have been removed from this people, who
are now sufficiently civilized to take an independent
position in the great family of man.

However we may differ in the opinion,
there is no greater compliment to Southern
slave-owners than the idea prevailing in

many places that the negro is already sufficiently
elevated to hold the highest positions
in the gift of our government.

I once met in traveling an English gentleman
who asked me: "How can you bear
those miserable black negroes about your
houses and about your persons? To me
they are horribly repulsive, and I would not
endure one about me."

"Neither would they have been my
choice," I replied. "But God sent them to
us. I was born to this inheritance and could
not avert it. What would you English have
done," I asked, "if God had sent them to
you?"

"Thrown them to the bottom of the sea!"
he replied.

Fortunately for the poor negro this sentiment
did not prevail among us. I believe
God endowed our people with qualities
peculiarly adapted to taking charge of this
race, and that no other nation could have
kept them. Our people did not demand as
much work as in other countries is required
of servants, and I think had more affection
for them than is elsewhere felt for menials.

during the war which deserves to be
recorded as showing the affection entertained
for negro dependents.

When our soldiers were
nearly starved,
and only allowed daily a small handful of
parched corn, the colonel of a Virginia regiment
*
by accident got some coffee, a small
portion of which was daily distributed to
each soldier. In the regiment was a cousin
of mine, - a young man endowed with the
noblest attributes God can give, - who, although
famishing and needing it, denied
himself his portion every day that he might
bring it to his black mammy. He made a
small bag in which he deposited and carefully
saved it.

When he arrived at home
on furlough, his
mother wept to see his tattered clothes,
his shoeless feet, and his starved appearance.

Soon producing the little
bag of coffee,
with a cheerful smile, he said: "See what
I've saved to bring black mammy!"

"Oh! my son,"
said his mother, "you
have needed it yourself. Why did you not
use it?"

CHAPTER VI.

The antiquity of the
furniture in our
homes can scarcely be described, every
article appearing to have been purchased
during the reign of George III., since which
period no new fixtures or household utensils
seemed to have been bought.

The books in our libraries had been
brought from England almost two hundred
years before. In our own library there were
Hogarth's pictures, in old worm-eaten
frames; and among the literary curiosities,
one of the earliest editions of Shakespeare
(1685) containing under the author's picture
the lines by Ben Johnson:

"This
Figure, that thou here seest put,
It
was for gentle Shakespeare cut;
Wherein
the Graver had a strife
With
Nature to outdo the Life:
O,
could he but have drawn his Wit
As
well in Brass, as he has hit
His
Face; the Print would then surpass
All
that was ever writ in Brass.
But
since he cannot, Reader, look
Not
on his Picture, but his Book."

This was a reprint of the first edition of
Shakespeare's works, collected by John
Heminge and Henry Condell, two of his
friends in the company of comedians.

When a small child, the perusal of the
"Arabian Nights" possessed me with the idea
that their dazzling pictures were to be realized
when we emerged from plantation life
into the outside world, and the disappointment
at not finding Richmond paved with
gems and gold like those cities in Eastern
story is remembered to the present time.

Brought up amid antiquities, the Virginia
girl disturbed herself not about modern
fashions, appearing happy in her mother's old
silks and satins made over. She rejoiced in
her grandmother's laces and in her brooch
of untold dimensions, with a weeping willow
and tombstone on it, - a constant reminder
of the past, - which had descended from
some remote ancestor.

She slept in a high bedstead - the bed
of her ancestors; washed her face on an
old-fashioned, spindle-legged washstand;
mounted a high chair to arrange her hair
before the old-fashioned mirror on the high
bureau; climbed to the top of a high mantelpiece

to take down the old-fashioned high
candlesticks; climbed a pair of steps to get
into the high-swung, old-fashioned carriage;
perched her feet upon the top of a high
brass fender if she wanted to get them warm;
and, in short, had to perform so many gymnastics
that she felt convinced her ancestors
must have been a race of giants, or they
could not have required such tall and inaccessible
furniture.

An occasional visit to Richmond or
Petersburg sometimes animated her with
a desire for some style of dress less antique
than her own, although she had as much
admiration and attention as if she had just
received her wardrobe from Paris.

Her social outlook might have been
regarded as limited and circumscribed, her
parents being unwilling that her acquaintance
should extend beyond the descendants
of their own old friends.

She had never any occasion to make what
the world calls her
"début,"
the constant
flow of company at her father's house having
rendered her assistance necessary in
entertaining guests as soon as she could
converse and be companionable, so that

her manners were early formed, and she
remembered not the time when it was anything
but very easy and agreeable to be
in the society of ladies and gentlemen.

. . . . .

In due time we were provided - my sister
and myself - with the best instructors - a
lady all the way from Bordeaux to teach
French, and a German professor for German
and music. The latter opened to us a new
world of music. He was a fine linguist, a
thorough musician, and a gentleman. He
lived with us for five years, and remained our
sincere and truly valued friend through
life.

After some years we were thought to
have arrived at "sufficient age of discretion"
for a trip to New York City.

Fancy our feelings on arriving in that
world of modern people and modern things!
Fancy two young girls suddenly transported
from the time of George III. to the largest
hotel on Broadway in 1855!

All was as strange to us then as we are
now to the Chinese. Never had we seen
white servants before, and on being
attended by them at first we felt a sort of

embarrassment, but soon found they were
accustomed to less consideration and more
hard work than were our negro servants at
home.

Everything and everybody seemed in a
mad whirl - the "march of material progress,"
they told us. It seemed to us more
the "perpetual motion of progress." Everybody
said that if old-fogy Virginia did not
make haste to join this march, she would
be left "a wreck behind."

We found ourselves in the "advanced
age": in the land of water-pipes and dumb-waiters;
the land of enterprise and money,
and, at the same time, of an economy
amounting to parsimony.

The manners of the people were strange
to us, and different from ours. The ladies
seemed to have gone ahead of the men
in the "march of progress" their manner
being more pronounced. They did not
hesitate to push about through crowds and
public places.

Still we were young; and, dazzled with
the gloss and glitter, we wondered why old
Virginia couldn't join this march of progress,
and have dumb-waiters, and elevators,

and water-pipes, and gas-fixtures, and baby-jumpers,
and washing-machines.

We asked a gentleman who was with us
why old Virginia had not all these, and he
replied: "Because, while the people here
have been busy working for themselves, old-fogy
Virginia has been working for negroes.
All the money Virginia makes is spent in
feeding and clothing negroes. "And," he
continued, "these people in the North were
shrewd enough years ago to sell all theirs
to the South."

All was strange to us, - even the tablecloths
on the tea and breakfast tables,
instead of napkins under the plates, such as
we had at home, and which always looked
so pretty on the mahogany.

But the novelty having worn off after a
while, we found out there was a good deal
of imitation, after all, mixed up in everything.
Things did not seem to have been
"fixed up" to last as long as our old things
at home, and we began to wonder if the "advanced
age" really made the people any
better, or more agreeable, or more hospitable,
or more generous, or more brave, or
more self-reliant, or more charitable, or

There was one thing most curious to us
in New York. No one seemed to do anything
by himself or herself. No one had
an individuality; all existed in "clubs" or
"societies." They had many "isms" also,
of which we had never heard, some of the
people sitting up all night and going
around all day talking about "manifestations,"
and "spirits," and "affinities," which
they told us was "spiritualism."

All this impressed us slow, old-fashioned
Virginians as a strangely upside-down,
wrong-side-out condition of things.

Much of the conversation we heard was
confined to asking questions of strangers,
and discussing the best means of making
money.

We were surprised, too, to hear of "plantation
customs," said to exist among us,
which were entirely new to us; and one
of the magazines published in the city
informed us that "dipping" was one of the
characteristics of Southern women. What
could the word "dipping" mean? we wondered,
for we had never heard it before.

Upon inquiry we found that it meant
"rubbing the teeth with snuff on a small
stick" - a truly disgusting habit which could
not have prevailed in Virginia, or we would
have had some tradition of it at least, our
acquaintance extending over the State, and
our ancestors having settled there two hundred
years ago.

A young gentleman from Virginia,
bright and overflowing with fun, - also visiting
New York, - coming into the parlor one
day, threw himself on a sofa in a violent fit
of laughter.

"What is the matter?" we asked.

"I am laughing," he replied, "at the
absurd questions these people can ask.
What do you think? A man asked me
just now if we didn't keep bloodhounds in
Virginia to chase negroes! I told him: Oh,
yes, every plantation keeps several dozen!
And we often have a tender boiled negro
infant for breakfast!"

"Oh, how could you have told such a
story?" we said.

"Well," said he, "you know we never
saw a bloodhound in Virginia, and I do not
expect there is one in the State; but these

people delight in believing everything horrible
about us, and I thought I might as well
gratify them with something marvelous.
So the next book published up here will
have, I've no doubt, a chapter headed:
'Bloodhounds in Virginia and boiled
negroes for breakfast!' "

While we were purchasing some trifles to
bring home to some of our servants, a lady
who had entertained us most kindly at her
house on Fifth Avenue, expressing surprise,
said: "We never think of bringing home
presents to our help."

This was the first time we had ever heard,
instead of "servant," the word "help," which
seemed then, and still seems, misapplied.
The dictionaries define "help" to mean
aid, assistance, remedy, while "servant"
means one who attends another and acts at
his command. When a man pays another
to "help" him, it implies he is to do part of
the work himself, and is dishonest if he
leaves the whole to be performed by his
"help."

Among other discoveries during this visit
we found how much more talent it requires
to entertain company in the country than in

the city. In the latter the guests and family
form no "social circle round the blazing
hearth" at night, but disperse far and wide,
to be entertained at the concert, the opera,
the theatre, or club; while in the country
one depends entirely upon native intellect
and conversational talent.

And, oh! the memory of our own fireside
circles! The exquisite women, the men of
giant intellect, eloquence, and wit, at sundry
times assembled there! Could our andirons
but utter speech, what would they not tell of
mirth and song, eloquence and wit, whose
flow made many an evening bright!

. . . . .

As all delights must have an end, the time
came for us to leave these metropolitan
scenes, and, bidding adieu forever to the
land of "modern appliances" and stale
bread, we returned to the land of "old ham
and corn cakes," and were soon surrounded
by friends who came to hear the marvels we
had to relate.

How monotonous, how dull, prosy, inconvenient,
everything seemed after our plunge
into modern life!

we had seen, and how she was left far
behind everybody and everything, urging
her to join at once the "march of material
progress."

But the Mother of States persisted in
sitting contentedly over her old-fashioned
wood fire with brass andirons, and, while
thus musing, these words fell slowly and distinctly
from her lips:

"They call me 'old fogy,' and tell me I
must get out of my old ruts and come into
the 'advanced age.' But I don't care about
their 'advanced age,' their water-pipes and
elevators. Give me the right sort of men
and women - God-loving, God-serving men
and women. Men brave, courteous, true;
women sensible, gentle, and retiring.

"Have not my plantation homes furnished
warriors, statesmen, and orators,
acknowledged great by the world? I make
it a rule to 'keep on hand' men equal to
emergencies. Had I not Washington, Patrick
Henry, Light-Horse Harry Lee, and
others, ready for the first Revolution? and
if there comes another, - which God forbid! -
have I not plenty more just like
them?"

Here she laughed with delight as she
called over their names: "Robert Lee,
Jackson, Joe Johnstone, Stuart, Early,
Floyd, Preston, the Breckinridges, Scott,
and others like them, brave and true as steel.
Ha! ha! I know of what stuff to make
men! And if my old 'ruts and grooves'
produce men like these, should they be
abandoned? Can any 'advanced age' produce
better?

"Then there are my
soldiers of the Cross.
Do I not yearly send out a faithful band
to be a 'shining light,' and spread the
Gospel North, South, East, West, even
into foreign lands? Is not the only Christian
paper in Athens, Greece, the result
of the love and labor of one of my soldiers?
*

"And can I not send out men of science,
as well as warriors, statesmen, and orators?
There is Maury on the seas, showing the
world what a man of science can do. If my
'old-fogy' system has produced men like
these, must it be abandoned?"

Here the old Mother of States settled herself
back in her chair, a smile of satisfaction

Telling our mother of all the wonders and
pleasures of New York, she said:

"You were so delighted I judge that you
would like to sell out everything here and
move there!"

"It would be delightful!" we exclaimed.

"But you would miss many pleasures you
have in our present home."

"We would have no time to miss anything,"
said my sister, "in that whirl of excitement!
But," she continued, "I believe
one might as well try to move the
Rocky Mountains to Fifth Avenue as an
old Virginian! They have such a horror
of selling out and moving."

"It is not so easy to sell out and move,"
replied our mother, "when you remember all
the negroes we have to take care of and
support."

"Yes, the negroes," we said, "are the
weight continually pulling us down! Will
the time ever come for us to be free of
them?"

mother, "by God, for us to take care of, and
it does not seem that we can change it.
When we emancipate them, it does not better
their condition. Those left free and
with good farms given them by their masters
soon sink into poverty and wretchedness,
and become a nuisance to the community.
We see how miserable are Mr.
Randolph's
* negroes, who with their
freedom
received from their master a large section
of the best land in Prince Edward
County. My own grandfather also emancipated
a large number, having first had them
taught lucrative trades that they might support
themselves, and giving them money
and land. But they were not prosperous or
happy. We have also tried sending them
to Liberia. You know my old friend Mrs.
L. emancipated all hers and sent them to
Liberia; but she told me the other day that
she was convinced it had been no kindness
to them, for she continually receives letters
begging assistance, and yearly supplies them
with clothes and money."

So it seemed our way was
surrounded
by walls of circumstances too thick and

Some weeks after this conversation we
had a visit from a friend - Dr. Bagby -
who, having lived in New York, and
hearing us express a wish to live there,
said:

"What! exchange a home in old Virginia
for one on Fifth Avenue? You don't
know what you are talking about! It is
not even called 'home' there, but 'house,'
where they turn into bed at midnight, eat
stale-bread breakfasts, have brilliant parties -
where several hundred people meet who
don't care anything about each other. They
have no soul life, but shut themselves up in
themselves, live for themselves, and never
have any social enjoyment like ours."

"But," we said, "could not our friends
come to see us there as well as anywhere
else?"

"No, indeed!" he answered. "Your
hearts would soon be as cold and dead as a
marble door-front. You wouldn't want to
see anybody, and nobody would want to see
you."

"I know all about it; and" - he continued -
"I know you could not find on Fifth
Avenue such women as your mother and
grandmother, who never think of themselves,
but are constantly planning and providing
for others, making their homes comfortable
and pleasant, and attending to the wants
and welfare of so many negroes. And that
is what the women all over the South are
doing, and what the New York women cannot
comprehend. How can anybody know,
except ourselves, the personal sacrifices of
our women?"

"Well," said my sister, "you need not be
so severe and eloquent because we thought
we should like to live in New York! If we
should sell all we possess, we could never
afford to live there. Besides, you know our
mother would as soon think of selling her
children as her servants."

"But," he replied, "I can't help talking,
for I hear our people abused, and called indolent
and self-indulgent, when I know they
have valor and endurance enough. And I
believe so much 'material progress' leaves
no leisure for the highest development of
heart and mind. Where the whole energy

of a people is applied to making money, the
souls of men become dwarfed."

"We do not feel," we said, "like abusing
Northern people, in whose thrift and enterprise
we found much to admire; and especially
the self-reliance of their women, enabling
them to take care of themselves and
to travel from Maine to the Gulf without
escort, while we find it impossible to travel
a day's journey without a special protector."

"That is just what I don't like," said he,
"to see a woman in a crowd of strangers
and needing no 'special protector.' "

"This dependence upon your sex," we replied,
"keeps you so vain."

"We should lose our gallantry altogether,"
said he, "if we found you could get along
without us."

CHAPTER VII.

AFTER some months -
ceasing to think
and speak of New York - our lives glided back
into the old channel, where the placid stream
of life had many isles of simple pleasures.

In those days we were not whirled over
the iron track in a crowded car, with dirty,
shrieking children and repulsive-looking
people. We were not jammed against
rough people, eating ill-smelling things out
of ill-looking baskets and satchels, and
throwing the remains of pies and sausages
over the cushioned seats.

Oh, no! our journeys were performed in
venerable carriages, and our lunch was enjoyed
by some cool, shady spring where we
stopped in a shady forest at mid-day.

Our own ancient carriage my sister styled
"the old ship of Zion," saying it had carried
many thousands, and was likely to carry
many more. And our driver we called the
"Ancient Mariner." He presided on his

seat - a lofty perch - in a very high hat and
with great dignity. Having been driving
the same carriage for nearly forty years - no
driver being thought safe who had not been
on the carriage box at least twenty years, -
he regarded himself as an oracle, and, in consequence
of his years and experience, kept
us in much awe, - my sister and myself
never daring to ask him to quicken or retard
his pace or change the direction of his
course, however much we desired it. We
will ever remember this thraldom, and how
we often wished one of the younger negroes
could be allowed to take his place; but my
grandmother said "it would wound his
feelings, and, besides, be very unsafe" for
us.

At every steep hill or bad place in the
road it was an established custom to stop
the carriage, unfold the high steps, and "let
us out," - as in pictures of the animals coming
down out of the ark! This custom had
always prevailed in my mother's family, and
there was a tradition that my great-grand-father's
horses, being habituated to stop for
this purpose, refused to pull up certain hills,
even when the carriage was empty, until

the driver had dismounted and slammed the
door, after which they moved off without
further hesitation.

This custom of walking at intervals made
a pleasant variety, and gave us an opportunity
to enjoy fully the beautiful and
picturesque scenery through which we were
passing.

Those were the days of leisure and pleasure
for travelers; and when we remember
the charming summer jaunts annually made
in this way, we almost regret the steam
horse, which takes us now to the same
places in a few hours.

We had two dear friends, Mary and
Alice, who with their old carriages and
drivers - the facsimiles of our own - frequently
accompanied us in these expeditions;
and no generals ever exercised more
entire command over their armies than did
these three black coachmen over us. I
smile now to think of their ever being called
our "slaves."

Yet, although they had this domineering
spirit, they felt at the same time a certain
pride in us, too.

together, our friend Alice concluded to dismount
from her carriage and ride a few
miles with a gentleman of the party in a
buggy. She had not gone far before the
alarm was given that the buggy horse was
running away, whereupon our black generalissimos
instantly stopped the three carriages
and anxiously watched the result. Old
Uncle Edmund, Alice's coachman, stood
up in his seat highly excited, and when his
young mistress, with admirable presence of
mind, seized the reins and stopped the horse,
turning him into a by-road, he shouted at
the top of his voice: "Dar, now! I always
knowed Miss Alice was a young 'oman of de
mos' amiable courage!" - and over this feat
he continued to chuckle for the rest of the
day.

The end of these pleasant journeys always
brought us to some old plantation home,
where we met a warm welcome not only
from the white family, but from the servants
who constituted part of the establishment.

One of the most charming places to which
we made a yearly visit was Oaklands, a lovely
spot embowered in vines and shade-trees.

brought so many visitors every summer, it
was necessary to erect cottages about the
grounds, although the house itself was quite
large. And as the yard was usually filled
with persons strolling about, or reading, or
playing chess under the trees, it had every
appearance, on first approach, of a small
watering-place. The mistress of this establishment
was a woman of rare attraction,
possessing all the gentleness of her
sex, with attributes of greatness enough for
a hero. Tall and handsome, she looked a
queen as she stood on the portico receiving
her guests, and, by the first words of greeting,
from her warm, true heart, charmed
even strangers.

Without the least "variableness or
shadow of turning," her excellences were
a perfect continuity, and her deeds of
charity a blessing to all in need within her
reach. No undertaking seemed too great
for her, and no details - affecting the comfort
of her home, family, friends, or servants -
too small for her supervision.

The church, a few miles distant, the
object of her care and love, received at her
hands constant and valuable aid, and its

No wonder, then, that the home of such
a woman should have been a favorite resort
for all who had the privilege of knowing
her. And no wonder that all who enjoyed
her charming hospitality were spellbound,
and loath to leave the spot where it was
extended.

In addition to the qualities I have attempted
to describe, this lady inherited from
her father, General Breckinridge, an executive
talent which enabled her to order and
arrange her domestic affairs perfectly; so
that from the delicious viands upon her
table to the highly polished oak of the
floors, all gave evidence of her superior
management and the admirable training of
her servants.

Nor were the hospitalities of this establishment
dispensed to the gay and great alone:
they were shared alike by the homeless and
the friendless, and many a weary heart
found sympathy and shelter there.

Oaklands was famous for many things:
its fine light-bread, its cinnamon cakes, its
beat biscuit, its fricasseed chicken, its butter

and cream, its wine-sauces, its plum-puddings,
its fine horses, its beautiful meadows,
its sloping green hills, and last, but not least,
its refined and agreeable society collected
from every part of our own State, and often
from others.

For an epicure no better place could have
been desired. And this reminds me of a
retired army officer, a gourmet of the first
water, whom we often met there. His sole
occupation was visiting his friends, and his
only subjects of conversation were the best
viands and the best manner of cooking
them! When asked whether he remembered
certain people at a certain place, he
would reply: "Yes, I dined there ten years
ago, and the turkey was very badly cooked -
not quite done enough!" the turkey evidently
having made a more lasting impression
than the people.

This gentleman lost an eye at the battle
of Chapultepec, having been among the first
of our gallant men who scaled the walls.
But a young girl of his acquaintance always
said she knew it was not bravery so much as
"curiosity, which led him to go peeping over
the walls, first man!" This was a heartless

speech, but everybody repeated it and
laughed, for the colonel was a man of considerable
"curiosity."

Like all old homes, Oaklands had its
bright as well as its sorrowful days, its
weddings and its funerals. Many yet remember
the gay wedding of one there whose
charms brought suitors by the score and
won hearts by the dozen. The brilliant
career of this young lady, her conquests and
wonderful fascinations, behold! are they
not all written upon the hearts and memories
of divers rejected suitors who still
survive?

Imagine all this going on
simultaneously
for several successive days and nights, and
you have an idea of "preparations" for an
old-fashioned Virginia wedding.

The guests generally
arrived in private
carriages a day or two before, and stayed
often for a week after the affair, being accompanied
by quite an army of negro servants,
who enjoyed the festivities as much as their
masters and mistresses.

A great many years ago,
after such a
wedding as I describe, a dark shadow fell
upon Oaklands.

The eldest daughter,
young and beautiful,
soon to marry a gentleman
* of high
character, charming manners, and large estate,
one night, while the preparations were
in progress for her nuptials, saw in a vision
vivid pictures of what would befall her if
she married. The vision showed her: a gay
wedding, herself the bride; the marriage
jaunt to her husband's home in a distant
county; the incidents of the journey; her
arrival at her new home; her sickness and

death; the funeral procession back to Oaklands;
the open grave; the bearers of her
bier - those who a few weeks before had
danced at the wedding; herself a corpse in
her bridal dress; her newly surfed grave
with a bird singing in the tree above.

This vision produced such
an impression
that she awakened her sister and told her of it.

For three successive
nights the vision appeared,
which so affected her spirits that she
determined not to marry. But after some
months, persuaded by her family to think
no more of the dream which continually
haunted her, she allowed the marriage to
take place.

All was a realization of
the vision: the
wedding, the journey to her new home, -
every incident, however small, had been presented
before her in the dream.

As the bridal party
approached the house
of an old lady near Abingdon, who had
made preparations for their entertainment,
servants were hurrying to and fro in great
excitement, and one was galloping off for a
doctor, as the old lady had been suddenly
seized with a violent illness. Even this was
another picture in the ill-omened vision of

the bride, who every day found something
occurring to remind her of it, until in six
months her own death made the last sad
scene of her dream. And the funeral procession
back to Oaklands, the persons officiating,
the grave, - all proved a realization
of her vision.

After this her husband, a man of true
Christian character, sought in foreign lands
to disperse the gloom overshadowing his
life. But whether on the summit of Mount
Blanc or the lava-crusted Vesuvius; among
the classic hills of Rome or the palaces of
France; in the art-galleries of Italy or the
regions of the Holy Land, - he carries ever
in his heart the image of his fair bride and
the quiet grave at Oaklands.

were very young, had given them household
cares which would have been considerable
but for the assistance of Uncle
Billy, the butler, - an all-important character
presiding with imposing dignity over domestic
affairs.

His jet-black face was relieved by a head
of gray hair with a small, round, bald centerpiece;
and the expression of his face was
calm and serene as he presided over the
pantry, the table, and the tea-waiters.

His mission on earth seemed to be keeping
the brightest silver urns, sugar-dishes,
cream-jugs, and spoons; flavoring the best
ice-creams; buttering the hottest rolls, muffins,
and waffles; chopping the best salads;
folding the whitest napkins; handing the
best tea and cakes in the parlor in the evenings;
and cooling the best wine for dinner.
Indeed, he was so essentially a part of the
establishment that in recalling those old
days at Buena Vista the form of Uncle
Billy comes silently back from the past and
takes its old place about the parlors, the
halls, and the dining-room, making the picture
complete.

home picture come to their accustomed
places the forms of dusky friends, who once
shared our homes, our firesides, our affections, -
and who will share them, as in the
past, never more.

. . . . .

Of all the plantation
homes we loved
and visited, the brightest, sweetest memories
cluster around Grove Hill,
* a grand old
place in the midst of scenery lovely and
picturesque, to reach which we made a
journey across the Blue Ridge - those giant
mountains from whose winding roads and
lofty heights we had glimpses of exquisite
scenery in the valleys below.

Thus winding slowly
around these mountain
heights and peeping down from our old
carriage windows, we beheld nature in its
wildest luxuriance. The deep solitude; the
glowing sunlight over rock, forest, and glen;
the green valleys deep down beneath, diversified
by alternate light and shadow, - all together
photographed on our hearts pictures
never to fade.

Not all the towers,
minarets, obelisks, palaces,
gem-studded domes of "art and man's

device," can reach the soul like one of these
sun-tinted pictures in their convex frames of
rock and vines!

Arrived at Grove Hill, how enthusiastic
the welcome from each member of the
family assembled in the front porch to meet
us! How joyous the laugh! How deliciously
cool the wide halls, the spacious parlor,
the dark polished walnut floors! How
bright the flowers! How gay the spirits of
all assembled!

One was sure of meeting here pleasant
people from Virginia, Baltimore, Florida,
South Carolina, and Kentucky, with whom
the house was filled from May till November.

How delightfully passed the days, the
weeks! What merry excursions, fishing-parties,
riding-parties to the Indian Spring,
the Cave, the Natural Bridge! What pleasant
music, and tableaux, and dancing, in the
evenings!

For the tableaux we had only to open an
old chest in the garret and help ourselves to
rich embroidered white and scarlet dresses,
with other costumes worn by the grandmother
of the family nearly a hundred years

before, when her husband was in public life
and she one of the queens of society.

What sprightly conversazioni in our
rooms at night! - young girls will become
confidential and eloquent with each other at
night, however reserved and quiet during
the day.

Late in the night these talks continued,
with puns and laughter, until checked by
a certain young gentleman, now a minister,
who was wont to bring out his flute in the
flower-garden under our windows, and give
himself up for an hour or more to the most
sentimental and touching strains, thus
breaking in upon sprightly remarks and
repartees, some of which are remembered
to this day. A characteristic conversation
ran thus:

"Girls!" said one, "would it not be
charming if we could all take a trip together
to Niagara?"

"Well, why could we not?" was the response.

"Oh!" replied another, "the idea of us
poor Virginia girls taking a trip!"

"Indeed," said one of the Grove Hill girls,
"it would be impossible. For here are we

on this immense estate, - four thousand
acres, two large, handsome residences,
and three hundred negroes, - regarded as
wealthy, and yet, to save our lives, we could
not raise money enough for a trip to New
York!"

"Nor get a silk-velvet cloak!" said her
sister laughing.

"Yes," replied the other. "Girls! I have
been longing and longing for a silk-velvet
cloak, but never could get the money to buy
one. But last Sunday, at the village church,
what should I see but one of the Joneses
sweeping in with a long velvet cloak almost
touching the floor! And you could set her
father's house in our back hall! But, then,
she is so fortunate as to own no negroes."

"What a happy girl she must be!" cried
a chorus of voices. "No negroes to support!
We could go to New York and
Niagara, and have velvet cloaks, too, if we
only had no negroes to support! But all
our money goes to provide for them as soon
as the crops are sold!"

"Yes," said one of the Grove Hill girls;
"here is our large house without an article
of modern furniture. The parlor curtains

are one hundred years old, the old-fashioned
mirrors and recess tables one hundred
years old, and we long in vain for money to
buy something new."

"Well!" said
one of the sprightliest girls,
"we can get up some of our old diamond
rings or breastpins which some of us have
inherited, and travel on appearances! We
have no modern clothes, but the old rings
will make us look rich! And a party of
poor, rich Virginians will attract the commiseration
and consideration of the world
when it is known that for generations we have
not been able to leave our plantations!"

After these conversations
we would fall
asleep, and sleep profoundly, until aroused
next morning by an army of servants polishing
the hall floors, waxing and rubbing them
with a long-handled brush weighted by an
oven lid. This made the floor like a "sea
of glass," and dangerous to walk upon immediately
after the polishing process, being
especially disastrous to small children, who
were continually slipping and falling before
breakfast.

possessed a cultivated mind, bright
conversational powers, and gentle temper,
with a force of character which enabled her
judiciously to direct the affairs of her household,
as well as the training and education
of her children.

She always employed an accomplished
tutor, who added to the attractiveness of
her home circle.

She helped the boys with their Latin, and
the girls with their compositions. In her
quiet way she governed, controlled, suggested
everything; so that her presence was
required everywhere at once.

While in the parlor entertaining her guests
with bright, agreeable conversation, she was
sure to be wanted by the cooks (there were
six!) to "taste or flavor" something in the
kitchen; or by the gardener, to direct the
planting of certain seeds or roots, - and so
with every department. Even the minister -
there was always one living in her house -
would call her out to consult over his text
and sermon for the next Sunday, saying he
could rely upon her judgment and discrimination.

flowing with sympathy and interest for
others, she entered into the pleasures of the
young as well as the sorrows of the old.

If the boys came in from a fox or deer
chase, their pleasure was incomplete until it
had been described to her and enjoyed with
her again.

The flower-vases were never entirely beautiful
until her hand had helped to arrange
the flowers.

The girls' laces were never perfect until
she had gathered and crimped them.

Her sons were never so happy as when
holding her hand and caressing her. And
the summer twilight found her always in the
vine-covered porch, seated by her husband, -
a dear, kind old gentleman, - her hand resting
in his, while he quietly and happily
smoked his pipe after the day's riding over
his plantation, interviewing overseers, millers,
and blacksmiths, and settling up accounts.

One more reminiscence, and the Grove
Hill picture will be done. No Virginia
home being complete without some prominent
negro character, the picture lacking
this would be untrue to nature, and without
the finishing touch. And not to have

"stepped in" to pay our respects to old
Aunt Betsy during a visit to Grove Hill
would have been looked upon - as it should
be to omit it here - a great breach of
civility; for the old woman always received
us at her door with a cordial welcome and
a hearty shake of the hand.

"Lor' bless de child'en!" she would say.
"How dey does grow! Done grown up
young ladies! Set down, honey. I mighty
glad to see you. An' why didn't your ma
*
come? I would love to see Miss Fanny.
She always was so good an' so pretty.
Seems to me it sent been no time sence she
and Miss Emma" - her own mistress - "use'
to play dolls togedder, an' I use' to bake
sweet cakes for dem, an' cut dem out wid
de pepper-box top for dar doll parties; an'
dey loved each other like sisters."

"Well, Aunt
Betsy," we would ask, "how
is your rheumatism now?"

"Lor', honey, I
nuver spec's to git over
dat. But some days I can hobble out an'
feed de chickens; an' I can set at my window
an' make the black child'en feed 'em,
an' I love to think I'm some 'count to Miss

Emma. An' Miss Emma's child'en can't
do 'thout old'Mammy Betsy,' for I takes
care of all dar pet chickens. Me an' my
ole man gittin' mighty ole now; but Miss
Emma an' all her child'en so good to us we
has pleasure in livin' yet."

At last the shadows began to fall dark
and chill upon this once bright and happy
home.

Old Aunt Betsy lived to see the four boys
- her mistress's brave and noble sons -
buckle their armor on and go forth to battle
for the home they loved so well, - the youngest
still so young that he loved his pet
chickens, which were left to "Mammy
Betsy's" special care; and when the sad
news at length came that this favorite
young master was killed, amid all the agony
of grief no heart felt the great sorrow more
sincerely than hers.

Another and still another of these noble
youths fell after deeds of heroic valor, their
graves the battlefield, a place of burial fit for
men so brave. Only one - the youngest -
was brought home to find a resting-place
beside the graves of his ancestors.

shattered by grief, continued day after
day, for several years, to sit in the vine-covered
porch, gazing wistfully out, imagining
sometimes that he saw in the distance
the manly forms of his sons, returning
home, mounted on their favorite horses, in
the gray uniforms worn the day they went
off.

Then he, too, followed, where the "din of
war, the clash of arms," is heard no more.

To recall these scenes so blinds my eyes
with tears that I cannot write of them.
Some griefs leave the heart dumb. They
have no language and are given no language,
because no other hears could understand,
nor could they be alleviated if shared.

CHAPTER IX.

IT will have been
observed from these
reminiscences that the mistress of a Virginia
plantation was more conspicuous, although
not more important, than the master. In
the house she was the mainspring, and to
her came all the hundred or three hundred
negroes with their various wants and constant
applications for medicine and every
conceivable requirement.

Attending to these, with directing her
household affairs and entertaining company,
occupied busily every moment of her life.
While all these devolved upon her, it sometimes
seemed to me that the master had
nothing to do but ride around his estate
on the most delightful horse, receive reports
from overseers, see that his pack of hounds
was fed, and order "repairs about the mill" -
the mill seemed always needing repairs!

This view of the subject, however, being
entirely from a feminine standpoint, may have

been wholly erroneous; for doubtless his
mind was burdened with financial matters
too weighty to be grasped and comprehended
by our sex.

Nevertheless, the mistress held complete
sway in her own domain; and that this fact
was recognized will be shown by the following
incident:

A gentleman, a clever and successful
lawyer, one day discovering a negro boy
in some mischief about his house, and
determining forthwith to chastise him, took
him into the yard for that purpose. Breaking
a small switch, and in the act of coming
down with it upon the boy, he asked: "Do
you know, sir, who is master on my place?"

"Yas, sah!" quickly replied the boy.
"Miss Charlotte, sah!"

Throwing aside the switch, the gentleman
ran into the house, laughed a half hour, and
thus ended his only experiment at interfering
in his wife's domain.

His wife, "Miss Charlotte," as the
negroes called her, was gentle and indulgent
to a fault, which made the incident
more amusing.

our women, although having sufficient self-possession
at home, and accustomed there
to command on a large scale, became painfully
timid if ever they found themselves in
a promiscuous or public assemblage, shrinking
from everything like publicity.

Still, these women, to whom a whole
plantation looked up for guidance and instruction,
could not fail to feel a certain
consciousness of superiority, which, although
never displayed or asserted in manner, became
a part of themselves. They were distinguishable
everywhere - for what reason,
exactly, I have never been able to find out,
for their manners were too quiet to attract
attention. Yet a captain on a Mississippi
steamboat said to me: "I always know a Virginia
lady as soon as she steps on my boat."

"How do you know?" I asked, supposing
he would say: "By their plain style of
dress and antiquated breastpins."

Said he: "I've been running a boat from
Cincinnati to New Orleans for twenty-five
years, and often have three hundred passengers
from various parts of the world. But
if there is a Virginia lady among them, I
find it out in half an hour. They take

things quietly, and don't complain. Do
you see that English lady over there?
Well, she has been complaining all the way
up the Mississippi River. Nobody can
please her. The cabin-maid and steward
are worn out with trying to please her.
She says it is because the mosquitoes bit
her so badly coming through Louisiana.
But we are almost at Cincinnati now,
haven't seen a mosquito for a week, and
she is still complaining!

"Then," he continued, "the Virginia
ladies look as if they could not push about
for themselves, and for this reason I always
feel like giving them more attention than
the other passengers."

"We are inexperienced travelers," I
replied.

And these remarks of the captain convinced
me - I had thought it before - that
Virginia women should never undertake to
travel, but content themselves with staying
at home. However, such restriction would
have been unfair unless they had felt like
the Parisian who, when asked why the
Parisians never traveled, replied: "Because
all the world comes to Paris!"

Indeed, a Virginian had an opportunity
for seeing much choice society at home;
for our watering-places attracted the best
people from other States, who often visited
us at our houses.

On the Mississippi boat to which I have
alluded it was remarked that the negro
servants paid the Southerners more constant
and deferential attention than the
passengers from the non-slaveholding States,
although some of the latter were very agreeable
and intelligent, and conversed with
the negroes on terms of easy familiarity, -
showing, what I had often observed, that
the negro respects and admires those who
make a "social distinction" more than those
who make none.

CHAPTER X.

WE were surprised to
find in an "Ode
to the South," by Mr. M. F. Tupper, the
following stanza:

"Yes,
it is slander to say you oppressed them:
Does
a man squander the prize of his pelf?
Was
it not often that he who possessed them
Rather
was owned by his servants himself?"

This was true, but that
it was known in
the outside world we thought impossible,
when all the newspaper and book accounts
represented us as miserable sinners for
whom there was no hope here or hereafter,
and called upon all nations, Christian and
civilized, to revile, persecute, and exterminate
us. Such representations, however,
differed so widely from the facts around us
that when we heard them they failed to
produce a very serious impression, occasioning
often only a smile, with the exclamation:
"How little those people know about
us!"

We had not the vanity to think that the
European nations cared or thought about
us, and if the Americans believed these
accounts, they defamed the memory of one
held up by them as a model of Christian virtue -
George Washington, a Virginia
slave-owner, whose kindness to his "people,"
as he called his slaves, entitled him
to as much honor as did his deeds of
prowess.

But to return to the two last lines of the
stanza:

"Was
it not often that he who possessed them
Rather
was owned by his servants himself?"

I am reminded of some
who were actually
held in such bondage; especially an old
gentleman who, together with his whole
plantation, was literally possessed by his
slaves.

The expression of his countenance was so
full of goodness and sympathy that a
stranger meeting him in the road might
have been convinced at a glance of his
kindness and generosity.

He was never very particular about his
dress, yet never appeared shabby.

Although a graduate in law at the university,
an ample fortune made it unnecessary
for him to practice his profession.
Still his taste for literature made him a
constant reader, and his conversation was
instructive and agreeable.

His house was old and rambling, and -
I was going to say his servants kept the
keys, but I remember there were no keys
about the establishment. Even the front
door had no lock upon it. Everybody
retired at night in perfect confidence, however,
that everything was secure enough,
and it seemed not important to lock the
doors.

The negro servants who managed the
house were very efficient, excelling especially
in the culinary department, and serving up
dinners which were marvels.

them not only to furnish their master's table
with the choicest meats, vegetables, cakes,
pastries, etc., but also to supply themselves
bountifully, and to spread in their own
cabins sumptuous feasts, and wedding and
party suppers rich enough for a queen.

To this their master did not objects for he
told them "if they would supply his table
always with an abundance of the best bread,
meats, cream, and buttery he cared not what
became of the rest."

Upon this principle the plantation was
conducted. The well-filled barns, the stores
of bacon, lard, flour, etc., literally belonged
to the negroes, who allowed their master a
certain share!

Doubtless they entertained the sentiment
of a negro boy who, on being reproved by
his master for having stolen and eaten a
turkey, replied: "Well, masse, you see, you
got less turkey, but you got dat much more
niggah!"

While we were once visiting at this plantation,
the master of the house described to us
a dairy just completed on a new plan, which
for some weeks had been such a hobby
with him that he had actually purchased

a lock for it, saying he would keep the key
himself - which he never did - and have the
fresh mutton always put there.

"Come," said he, as he finished describing
it, "let us go down and look at it. Bring
me the key," he said to a small African,
who soon brought it, and we proceeded to
the dairy.

Turning the key in the doors the old gentleman
said: "Now see what a fine piece
of mutton I have here!"

But on entering and looking around, no
mutton was to be seen, and instead thereof
were buckets of custard, cream, and blanc-mange.
The old gentleman, greatly disconcerted,
called to one of the servants: "Florinda!
Where is my mutton that I had put
here this morning?"

Florinda replied: "Nancy took it out, sah,
an' put it in de ale spring house. She say
dat was cool enough place for mutton An'
she gwine have a big party to-night, an'
want her jelly an' custards to keep cool!"

At this the old gentleman was rapidly becoming
provoked, when we laughed so much
at Nancy's "cool" proceeding that his usual
good nature was restored.

On another occasion we were one evening
sitting with this gentleman in his front porch
when a poor woman from the neighboring
village came in the yards and, stopping before
the door, said to him:

"Mr. Radford, I came to tell you that my
cow you gave me has died."

"What did you say, my good woman?"
asked Mr. Radford, who was quite deaf.

The woman repeated in a louder voice:
"The cow you gave me has died. And she died
because I didn't have anything to feed her
with."

Turning to us, his countenance full of
compassion, he said: "I ought to have
thought about that, and should have sent
the food for her cow." Then, speaking to
the woman: "Well, my good woman, I will
give you another cow to-morrow, and send
you plenty of provision for her." And the
following day he fulfilled his promise.

Another incident occurs to me, showing
the generous heart of this truly good man.
One day on the Virginia and Tennessee train,
observing a gentleman and lady in much
trouble, he ventured to inquire of them the
cause, and was informed that they had lost

He asked the gentleman where he lived,
and on what side he was during the war.

"I am from Georgia," replied the gentleman,
"and was, of course, with the
South."

"Well," said Mr. Radford, pulling from
his capacious pocket a large purse, which
he handed the gentleman, "help yourself,
sir, and take as much as will be necessary to
carry you home."

The astonished stranger thanked him sincerely,
and handed him his card, saying: "I
will return the money as soon as I reach
home."

Returned to his own home, and relating
the incidents of his trip, Mr. Radford mentioned
this, when one of his nephews laughed
and said: "Well, uncle, we Virginia people
are so easily imposed upon! You don't
think that man will ever return your money,
do you?"

"My dear," replied his uncle, looking at
him reproachfully and sinking his voice, "I
was fully repaid by the change which came
over the man's countenance."

It is due to the Georgian to add that on
reaching home he returned the money with
a letter of thanks.

. . . . .

In sight of the hospitable home of Mr.
Radford was another, equally attractive,
owned by his brother-in-law, Mr. Bowyer.
These places had the same name, Greenfield,
the property having descended to two sisters,
the wives of these gentlemen. They might
have been called twin establishments, as one
was almost a facsimile of the other. At both
were found the same hospitality, the same
polished floors, the same style of loaf-bread
and velvet rolls, the only difference between
the two being that Mr. Bowyer kept
his doors locked at night, observed more
system, and kept his buggies and carriages
in better repair.

These gentlemen were also perfectly congenial.
Both had graduated in law, read
the same books, were members of the same
church, knew the same people, liked and
disliked the same people, held the same
political opinions, enjoyed the same old
Scotch songs, repeated the same old English
poetry, smoked the same kind of tobacco,

in the same kind of pipes, abhorred alike
intoxicating drinks, and deplored the increase
of bar-rooms and drunkenness in our
land.

For forty years they passed together a
part of every day or evening, smoking and
talking over the same events and people. It
was a picture to see them at night over a
blazing wood fire, their faces bright with
good nature; and a treat to hear all their
reminiscences of people and events long
past. With what circumstantiality could
they recall old law cases, and describe old
duels, old political animosities and excitements!
What merry laughs they sometimes
had!

Everything on one of these plantations
seemed to belong equally to the other. If
the ice gave out at one place, the servants
went to the other for it as a matter of
course; or if the buggies or carriage were
out of order at Mr. Radford's, which was
often the case, the driver would go over for
Mr. Bowyer's without even mentioning the
circumstance, and so with everything. The
families lived thus harmoniously with never
the least interruption for forty years.

Now and then the old gentlemen enjoyed
a practical joke on each other, and on one
occasion Mr. Radford succeeded so effectually
in quizzing Mr. Bowyer that whenever
he thought of it afterward he fell into a dangerous
fit of laughter.

It happened that a man who had married
a distant connection of the Greenfield family
concluded to take his wife, children, and
servants to pass the summer there, dividing
the time between the two houses. The manners,
character, and political proclivities of
this visitor became so disagreeable to the old
gentlemen that they determined he should
not repeat his visit, although they liked his
wife. One day Mr. Bowyer received a letter
signed by this objectionable individual - it
had really been written by Mr. Radford -
informing Mr. Bowyer that, as one of the
children was sick, and the physician advised
country air, he would be there the following
Thursday with his whole family, to stay some
months.

"The impudent fellow!" exclaimed Mr.
Bowyer as soon as he read the letter. "He
knows how Radford and myself detest him!
Still I am sorry for his wife. But I will not

be dragooned and outgeneraled by that contemptible
fellow. No! I will leave home
to-day!"

Going to the back door, he called in a loud
voice for his coachman, and ordered his
carriage. "I am going" said he, "to Grove
Hill for a week, and from there to Lexington,
with my whole family, and don't know when
I shall be at home again. It is very inconvenient,"
said he to his wife, "but I must
leave home."

Hurrying up the carriage and the family,
they were soon off on their unexpected
trip.

They stayed at Grove Hill, seven miles
off, a week, during which time Mr. Bowyer
every morning mounted his horse and rode
timidly around the outskirts of his own
plantation, peeping over the hills at his
house, but afraid to venture nearer, feeling
assured it was occupied by the obnoxious
visitor. He would not even make
inquiries of his negroes whom he met, as
to the state and condition of things in his
house.

Concluding to pursue his journey to
Lexington, and halfway there, he met a

young nephew of Mr. Radford's who happened
to know all about the quiz, and,
immediately suspecting the reason of Mr.
Bowyer's exile from home, inquired where
he was going, how long he had been from
home, etc. Soon guessing the truth, and
thinking the joke had been carried far
enough, he told the old gentleman he need
not travel any further, for it was all a quiz of
his uncle's, and there was no one at his
house. Thereupon Mr. Bowyer, greatly relieved,
turned back and went his way home
rejoicing, but "determined to pay Radford,"
he said, for such a practical joke,
which had exiled him from home and given
him such trouble. This caused many a good
laugh whenever it was told throughout the
neighborhood.

The two estates of which I am writing
were well named - Greenfield; for the fields
and meadows were of the freshest green, and,
with majestic hills around, the fine cattle
and horses grazing upon them, formed a
noble landscape.

This land had descended in the same
family since the Indian camp-fires ceased to
burn there, and the same forests were still

In this connection I am reminded of a
tradition in the Greenfield family which
showed the heroism of a Virginia boy:

The first white proprietor of this place,
the great-grandfather of the present owners,
had also a large estate in Montgomery
County, called Smithfield, where his family
lived, and where was a fort for the protection
of the whites when attacked by the Indians.

Once, while the owner was at his Greenfield
place, the Indians surrounded Smithfield,
and the white women and children took
refuge in the fort, while the men prepared
for battle. They wanted the proprietor of
Smithfield to help them fight and to take
command, for he was a brave man; but they
could not spare a man to carry him the news.
So they concluded to send one of his young
sons, a lad thirteen years old, who did not
hesitate, but, mounting a fleet horse, set off
after dark and rode all night through dense
forests filled with hostile Indians, reaching
Greenfield, a distance of forty miles, next
morning. He soon returned with his father,
and the Indians were repulsed. And I

always thought that boy was courageous
enough for his name to live in history.
*

The Indians afterward
told how, the whole
day before the fight, several of their chiefs
had been concealed near the Smithfield
house under a large haystack, upon which
the white children had been sliding and
playing all day, little suspecting the gleaming
tomahawks and savage men beneath.

From the Greenfield
estate in Botetourt
and the one adjacent went the ancestors of
the Prestons and Breckinridges, who made
these names distinguished in South Carolina
and Kentucky. And on this place are the
graves of the first Breckinridges who arrived
in this country.

All who visited at the
homesteads just
described retained ever after a recollection
of the perfectly cooked meats, bread, etc.,
seen upon the tables at both houses, there
being at each place five or six negro cooks
who had been taught by their mistresses the
highest style of the culinary art.

During the summer season
several of
these cooks were hired at the different
watering-places, where they acquired great

fame and made for themselves a considerable
sum of money by selling recipes.

A lady of the Greenfield family, who married
and went to Georgia, told me she had
often tried to make velvet rolls like those
she had been accustomed to see at her own
home, but never succeeded. Her mother
and aunt, who had taught these cooks, having
died many years before, she had to apply
to the negroes for information on such subjects,
and they, she said, would never show
her the right way to make them. Finally,
while visiting at a house in Georgia, this
lady was surprised to see velvet rolls exactly
like those at her home.

"Where did you get the recipe?" she
soon asked the lady of the house, who
replied: "I bought it from old Aunt Rose,
a colored cook, at the Virginia Springs, and
paid her five dollars."

"One of our own cooks, and my mother's
recipe," exclaimed the other, "and I had to
come all the way to Georgia to get it, for
Aunt Rose never would show me exactly
how to make them!"

CHAPTER XI.

This house, surrounded by
a forest of
grand old oaks, was not large or handsome.
But its inmates were ladies and gentlemen
of the old English style.

The grandmother, Mrs.
Burwell, about
ninety years of age, had in her youth been
one of the belles at the Williamsburg court
in old colonial days. A daughter of Sir
Dudley Digges, and descended from English
nobility, she had been accustomed to the
best society. Her manners and conversation
were dignified and attractive.

Among reminiscences of
colonial times
she remembered Lord Botetourt, of whom
she related interesting incidents.

The son of this old lady, about sixty years
of age, and the proprietor of the estate, was
a true picture of the old English gentleman.

His manners, conversation, thread-cambric
shirt-frills, cuffs, and long queue tied
with a black ribbon, made the picture complete.
His two daughters, young ladies of
refinement, had been brought up by their
aunt and grandmother to observe strictly
all the proprieties of life.

This establishment was proverbial for
its order and method, the most systematic
rules being in force everywhere. The meals
were served punctually at the same instant
every day; Old Aunt Nelly always dressed
and undressed her mistress at the same hour.
The cook's gentle "tapping at the chamber
door" called the mistress to an interview
with that functionary at the same moment
every morning, - an interview which, lasting
half an hour, and never being repeated during
the day, resulted in the choicest dinners,
breakfasts, and suppers.

Exactly at the same hour every morning
the old gentleman's horse was saddled,
and he entered the neighboring village so
promptly as to enable some of the inhabitants
to set their clocks by him.

This family had possessed great wealth in
eastern Virginia during the colonial government,

But impoverished by high living, entertaining
company, and a heavy British debt,
they had been reduced in their possessions to
about fifty negroes, with only money enough
to purchase this plantation, upon which they
had retired from the gay and charming
society of Williamsburg. They carried with
them, however, some remains of their former
grandeur: old silver, old jewelry, old books,
old and well-trained servants, and an old
English coach which was the curiosity of all
other vehicular curiosities. How the family
ever climbed into it, or got out of it, and
how the driver ever reached the dizzy height
upon which he sat, was the mystery of my
childhood.

But, although egg-shaped and suspended
in mid-air, this coach had doubtless, in its
day, been one of considerable renown, drawn
by four horses, with footman, postilion, and
driver in English livery.

How sad must have been its reflections
on finding itself shorn of these respectable
surroundings, and, after the Revolution,
drawn by two republican horses, with

A great-uncle of this
family, unlike the
coach, never would become republicanized;
and his obstinate loyalty to the English
crown, with his devotion to everything
English, gained for him the title "English
Louis" by which name he is spoken of in
the family to this day. An old lady told
me not long ago that she remembered, when
a child, the arrival of "English Louis" at
Rustic one night, and his conversation as
they sat around the fire, - how he deplored
a republican form of government, and the
misfortunes which would result from it, saying:
"All may go smoothly for about seventy years,
when civil war will set in. First
it will be about these negro slaves we have
around us, and after that it will be something
else." And how true "English
Louis' " prediction has proven.
*

Doubtless this gentleman
was avoided and
proscribed on account of his English proclivities.

For at that day the spirit of republicanism
and hatred to England ran high;
so that an old gentleman - one of our relatives
whom I well remember - actually took
from his parlor walls his coat-of-arms, which
had been brought by his grandfather from
England, and, carrying it out in his yard,
built a fire, and, collecting his children
around it to see it burn, said: "Thus let
everything English perish!"

Should I say what I think of this proceeding
I would not be considered, perhaps, a
true republican patriot.

. . . . .

I must add a few words to my previous
mention of Smithfield, in Montgomery
County, the county which flows with healing
waters.

Smithfield, like Greenfield, is owned by
the descendants of the first white family
who settled there after the Indians, and its
verdant pastures, noble forests, and mountain
streams and springs, form a prospect
wondrously beautiful.

This splendid estate descended to three
brothers of the Preston family, who equally
divided it, the eldest keeping the homestead,

and the others building attractive homes on
their separate plantations.

The old homestead was quite antique in
appearance. Inside, the high mantelpieces
reaching nearly to the ceiling, which was
also high, and the high wainscoting, together
with the old furniture, made a picture
of the olden time.

When I first visited this place, the old
grandmother, then eighty years of age, was
living. She, like the old lady at Rustic,
had been a belle in eastern Virginia in
her youth. When she married the owner of
Smithfield sixty years before, she made the
bridal jaunt from Norfolk to this place on
horseback, two hundred miles. Still exceedingly
intelligent and interesting, she entertained
us with various incidents of her
early life, and wished to hear all the old
songs which she had then heard and sung
herself.

"When I was married," said she, "and
first came to Smithfield, my husband's sisters
met me in the porch, and were shocked at
my pale and delicate appearance. One of
them, whispering to her brother, asked:
'Why did you bring that ghost up here?'

And now," continued the old lady, "I have
outlived all who were in the house that day,
and all my own and my husband's family."

This was certainly an evidence of the
health-restoring properties of the water and
climate in this region.

The houses of these three brothers were
filled with company winter and summer,
making within themselves a delightful society.
The visitors at one house were
equally visitors at the others, and the succession
of dinner and evening parties from
one to the other made it difficult for a
visitor to decide at whose particular house
he was staying.

One of these brothers, Colonel Robert
Preston, had married a lovely lady from
South Carolina, whose perfection of character
and disposition endeared her to everyone
who knew her. Everybody loved her
at sight, and the better she was known the
more she was beloved. Her warm heart
was ever full of other people's troubles or
joys, never thinking of herself. In her house
many an invalid was cheered by her tender
care, and many a drooping heart revived by
her bright Christian spirit. She never

omitted an opportunity of pointing the way
to heaven; and although surrounded by all
the allurements which gay society and
wealth could bring, she did not swerve an
instant from the quiet path along which she
directed others. In the midst of bright and
happy surroundings her thoughts and hopes
were constantly centered upon the life
above; and her conversation - which was
the reflex of her heart - reverted ever to
this theme, which she made attractive to old
and young.

The eldest of the three brothers was
William Ballard Preston, once Secretary of
the Navy in the cabinet of President Taylor.

CHAPTER XII.

IN the region of
country just described
and in the counties beyond abound the
finest mineral springs, one or more being
found on every plantation. At one place
there were seven different springs, and the
servants had a habit of asking the guests and
family whether they would have - before
breakfast - a glass of White Sulphur, Yellow
Sulphur, Black Sulphur, Alleghany, Alum,
or Limestone water!

The old Greenbrier White Sulphur Springs
was a favorite place of resort for eastern
Virginians and South Carolinians at a very
early date, when it was accessible only by
private conveyances, and all who passed the
summer there went in private carriages. In
this way certain old Virginia and South
Carolina families met every season, and
these old people told us that society there
was never so good after the railroads and
stages brought "all sorts of people, from all

sorts of places." This, of course, we knew
nothing about from experience, and it
sounded rather egotistical in the old people
to say so, but that is what they said.

Indeed, these "old folks" talked so much
about what "used to be in their day" at the
old White Sulphur, that I found it hard to
convince myself that I had not been bodily
present, seeing with my own eyes certain
knee-buckled old gentlemen, with long
queues, and certain Virginia and South Carolina
belles attired in short-waisted, simple,
white cambrics, who passed the summers
there. These white cambrics, we were told,
had been carried in minute trunks behind the
carriages; and were considered, with a few
jewels, and a long black or white lace veil
thrown over the head and shoulders, a complete
outfit for the reigning belles! Another
curiosity was that these white cambric
dresses - our grandmothers told us - required
very little "doing up:" one such
having been worn by Mrs. General Washington
- so her granddaughter told me -
a whole week without requiring washing!
It must have been an age of remarkable
women and remarkable cambrics! How

little they dreamed then of an era when
Saratoga trunks would be indispensable to
ladies of much smaller means than Virginia
and South Carolina belles!

To reach these counties flowing with mineral
waters, the families from eastern Virginia
and from South Carolina passed
through a beautiful region of Virginia known
as Piedmont, and those who had kinsfolk or
acquaintances there usually stopped to pay
them a visit. Consequently the Piedmont
Virginians were generally too busy entertaining
summer guests to visit the Springs
themselves. Indeed, why should they? No
more salubrious climate could be found than
their own, and no scenery more grand and
beautiful. But it was necessary for the tidewater
Virginians to leave their homes every
summer on account of chills and fevers.

In the lovely Piedmont region, over which
the "Peaks of Otter" rear their giant heads,
and chains of blue mountains extend as far
as eye can reach, were scattered many pleasant
and picturesque homes. And in this
section my grandfather bought a plantation,
when the ancestral estates in the eastern
part of the State had been sold to repay the

British debt, which estates, homesteads, and
tombstones with their quaint inscriptions,
are described in Bishop Meade's "Old
Churches and Families of Virginia."

While the tide-water Virginians were
already practicing all the arts and wiles
known to the highest English civilization;
sending their sons to be educated in England,
and receiving therefrom brocaded silks
and powdered wigs; and dancing the minuet
at the Williamsburg balls with the families
of the noblemen sent over to govern the
colony, - Piedmont was still a dense forest,
the abode of Indians and wild animals.

It was not strange, then, that the Piedmont
Virginians never arrived at the opulent
manner of living adopted by those on the
James and York rivers, who, tradition tells
us, went to such excess in high living as to
have "hams boiled in champagne," and of
whom other amusing and interesting tales
have been handed down to us. Although
the latter were in advance of the Piedmont
Virginians in wealth and social advantages,
they were not superior to them in honor,
virtue, kindness, or hospitality.

scenery is picturesque, there is in the human
character something to correspond; impressions
made on the retina are really made on
the soul, and the mind becomes what it
contemplates."

The same author continues: "A man is
not only like what he sees, but he is what he
sees. The noble old Highlander has mountains
in his soul, whose towering peaks point
heavenward; and lakes in his bosom, whose
glassy surfaces reflect the skies; and foaming
cataracts in his heart to beautify the
mountain side and irrigate the vale; and
evergreen firs and mountain pines that
show life and verdure even under winter
skies!"

"On the other hand," he writes, "the
wandering nomad has a desert in his heart;
its dead level reflects heat and hate; a sullen,
barren plain - no goodness, no beauty,
no dancing wave of joy, no gushing rivulet
of love, no verdant hope. And it is an interesting
fact that those who live in countries
where natural scenery inspires the soul,
and where the necessities of life bind to a
permanent home, are always patriotic and
high-minded; and those who dwell in the

If what this author
writes be true, and the
character of the Piedmont Virginians accords
with the scenery around them, how their
hearts must be filled with gentleness and
charity inspired by the landscape which
stretches far and fades in softness against
the sky! How must their minds be filled
with noble aspirations suggested by the
everlasting mountains! How their souls
must be filled with thoughts of heaven as
they look upon the glorious sunsets bathing
the mountains in rose-colored light, with
the towering peaks ever pointing heaven-ward
and seeming to say: "Behold the glory
of a world beyond!" *

Beneath the shadow of the
"Peaks" were
many happy homes and true hearts, and,
among these, memory recalls none more
vividly than Otterburn and its inmates.

Otterburn was the
residence of a gentleman
and his wife who, having no children,

devoted themselves to making their
home attractive to visitors, in which they
succeeded so well that they were rarely without
company, for all who went once to see
them went again and again.

This gentleman, Benjamin Donald, was a
man of high character, - his accomplishments,
manner and appearance marking him "rare," -
"one in a century." Above his fellow-men
in greatness of soul, he could comprehend
nothing mean. His stature was tall and
erect; his features bold; his countenance
open and impressive; his mind vigorous and
cultivated; his bearing dignified, but not
haughty; his manners simple and attractive;
his conversation so agreeable and enlivening
that the dullest company became
animated as soon as he came into the room.
Truth and lofty character were so unmistakably
stamped upon him that a day's acquaintance
convinced one he could be trusted
forever. Brought up in Scotland, the home
of his ancestors, in him were blended the
best points of Scotch and Virginia character, -
strict integrity and whole-souled generosity
and hospitality.

his house, and in childhood and youth how
many hours were we entertained by his
bright and instructive conversation! Especially
delightful was it to hear his stories of
Scotland, which brought vividly before us
pictures of its lakes and mountains and
castles. How often did we listen to his
account of the wedding-tour to Scotland,
when he carried his Virginia bride to the
old home at Greenock! And how often we
laughed about the Scotch children, his
nieces and nephews, who, on first seeing his
wife, clapped their hands and shouted: "Oh,
mother! are you not glad uncle did not
marry a black woman?" Hearing he was
to marry a Virginian, they expected to see
a savage Indian or negro! And some of the
family who went to Liverpool to meet
them, and were looking through spy-glasses
when the vessel arrived, said they were
"sure the Virginia lady had not come, because
they saw no one among the passengers
dressed in a red shawl and gaudy bonnet
like an Indian"!

From this we thought that Europeans
must be very ignorant of our country and
its inhabitants, and we have since learned

that their children are purposely kept ignorant
of facts in regard to America and its
people.

Among many other recollections of this
dear old friend of Otterburn I shall never
forget a dream he told us one night, which
so impressed us that, before his death, we
asked him to write it out, which he did;
and, as the copy is before me in his own
handwriting, I will insert it here:

"About the time I became of age I returned
to Virginia for the purpose of looking
after and settling my father's estate. Three
years thereafter I received a letter from my
only sister, informing me that she was going
to be married, and pressing me in the most
urgent manner to return to Scotland to be
present at her marriage, and to attend to the
drawing of the marriage contract. The letter
gave me a good deal of trouble, as it did
not suit me to leave Virginia at that time.
I went to bed one night, thinking much on
this subject, but soon fell asleep, and dreamed
that I landed in Greenock in the night-time,
and pushed for home, thinking I would take
my aunt and sister by surprise.

"When I arrived at the door, I found all
still and quiet, and the out-door locked. I
thought, however, that I had in my pocket
my check-key, with which I quietly opened
the door and groped my way into the sitting-room,
but, finding no one there, I concluded
they had gone to bed. I then went upstairs
to their bedroom, and found that
unoccupied. I then concluded they had
taken possession of my bedroom in my absence,
but, not finding them there, became
very uneasy about them. Then it struck
me they might be in the guest's chamber, a
room downstairs kept exclusively for company.
Upon going there I found the door
partially open; I saw my aunt removing the
burning coals from the top of the grate preparatory
to going to bed. My sister was
sitting up in bed, and as I entered the room
she fixed her eyes upon me, but did not
seem to recognize me. I approached toward
her, and, in the effort to make myself known,
awoke and found it all a dream. At breakfast
next morning I felt wearied and sick,
and could not eat, and told the family of my
(dream) journey overnight.

and in a very short time returned to Scotland.
I saw my sister married, and she and
her husband set off on their 'marriage
jaunt.' About a month thereafter they
returned, and at dinner I commenced telling
them of my dream; but, observing they had
quit eating and were staring at me, I laughed,
and asked what was the matter, whereupon
my brother-in-law very seriously asked me
to go on. When I finished, they asked me if
I remembered the exact time of my dream.
I told them it distressed and impressed me
so strongly that I noted it down at the time.
I pulled out my pocketbook and showed
them the date, '14th day of May,' written in
pencil. They all rose from the table and
took me into the bedroom and showed me,
written with pencil on the white mantelpiece,
'14th of May.'

"I asked them what that meant, and was
informed that on that very night - and the
only night they ever occupied that room
during my absence - my aunt was taking the
coals off of the fire, when my sister screamed
out: 'Brother has come!'

" My aunt scolded her, and said she was
dreaming; but she said she had not been to

sleep, was sitting up in bed, and saw me
enter the room, and run out when she
screamed. So confident was she that she
had seen me, and that I had gone off and
hidden, that the whole house was thoroughly
searched for me, and as soon as day dawned
a messenger was sent to inquire if any vessel
had arrived from America, or if I had been
seen by any of my friends.

No one who visited Otterburn can forget
the smiling faces of the negro servants about
the house, who received the guests with as
true cordiality as did their mistress, expressing
their pleasure by widespread mouths
showing white teeth (very white by contrast
with their jet-black skin), and when the
guests were going away always insisted
on their remaining longer.

One of these negro women was not only
an efficient servant, but a valuable friend to
her mistress.

In the absence of her master and mistress
she kept the keys, often entertaining their
friends, who, in passing from distant plantations,
were accustomed to stop, and who
received from her a cordial welcome, finding

No more sincere attachment could have
existed than that between this lady and her
servant. At last, when the latter was seized
with a contagious fever which ended her
life, she could not have had a more faithful
friend and nurse than was her mistress.

The same fever attacked all the negroes
on the plantation, and none can describe
the anxiety, care, and distress of their
owners, who watched by their beds day and
night, administering medicine and relieving
the sick and dying.

CHAPTER XIII.

AMONG other early
recollections is a visit
with my mother to the plantation of a
favorite cousin, not far from Richmond, and
one of the handsomest seats on the James
River. This residence - Howard's Neck
* -
was a favorite resort for people from Richmond
and the adjacent counties, and, like
many others on the river, always full of
guests; a round of visiting and dinner
parties being kept up from one house to
another, so that the ladies presiding over
these establishments had no time to attend
to domestic duties, which were left to their
housekeepers while they were employed
entertaining visitors.

The negroes on these
estates appeared
lively and happy - that is, if singing and
laughing indicate happiness; for they went
to their work in the fields singing, and returned
in the evening singing, after which

they often spent the whole night visiting
from one plantation to another, or dancing
until day to the music of the banjo or "fiddle."
These dances were wild and boisterous,
their evolutions being like those of
the savage dances described by travelers in
Africa. Although the most perfect timists,
their music, with its wild, melancholy
cadence, half savage, half civilized, cannot
be imitated or described. Many a midnight
were we wakened by their wild choruses,
sung as they returned from a frolic
or "corn-shucking," sounding at first like
some hideous, savage yell, but dying away
on the air, echoing a cadence melancholy
and indescribable, with a peculiar pathos,
and yet without melody or sweetness.

Corn-shuckings were occasions of great
hilarity and good eating. The negroes
from various plantations assembled at night
around a huge pile of corn. Selecting one
of their number - usually the most original
and amusing, and possessed of the loudest
voice - they called him "captain." The
captain seated himself on top of the pile - a
large lightwood torch burning in front of
him, and, while he shucked, improvised

words and music to a wild "recitative," the
chorus of which was caught up by the army
of shuckers around. The glare of the
torches on the black faces, with the wild
music and impromptu words, made a scene
curious even to us who were so accustomed
to it.

After the corn was shucked they assembled
around a table laden with roasted pigs,
mutton, beef, hams, cakes, pies, coffee, and
other substantials - many participating in
the supper who had not in the work. The
laughing and merriment continued until one
or two o'clock in the morning.

. . . . .

On these James River plantations distinguished
foreigners were often entertained,
who, visiting Richmond, desired to see
something of Virginia country life. Mr.
Thackeray was once a guest at one of these
places, but Dickens never visited them.
Could he have passed a month at any one of
the homes I have described, he would, I am
sure, have written something more flattering
of Americans and American life than is
found in "Martin Chuzzlewit" and "American Notes."
However, with these we should

not quarrel, as some of the sketches, especially
the one on "tobacco-chewers," we can
recognize.

Every nation has a right to its prejudices
- certainly the English people have such a
right as regards America, this country appearing
to the English eye like a huge mushroom,
the growth of a night, and unsubstantial.
But it is surely wrong to censure
a whole nation - as some have done the
Southern people - for the faults of a few.
Although the right of a nation to its prejudices
be admitted, no one has a right, without
thorough examination and acquaintance
with the subject, to publish as facts the
exaggerated accounts of another nation, put
forth by its enemies. The world in this
way receives very erroneous impressions.

For instance, we have no right to suppose
the Germans a cruel race because of the
following paragraph clipped from a recent
newspaper:

"The cruelty of German officers is a
matter of notoriety, but an officer in an
artillery regiment has lately gone beyond
precedent in ingenuity of cruelty. Some of

his men being insubordinate, he punished
them by means of a 'spurring process,'
which consisted in jabbing spurs persistently
and brutally into their legs. By this process
his men were so severely injured that they
had to go to the hospital."

Neither have we a right to pronounce all
Pennsylvanians cruel to their "helps," as
they call them, because a Pennsylvania lady
told me "the only way she could manage
her help" - a white girl fourteen years
old - "was by holding her head under the
pump and pumping water upon it until she
lost her breath," - a process I could not have
conceived, and which filled me with horror.

But sorrow and oppression, we suppose,
may be found in some form in every clime,
and in every phase of existence some hearts
are "weary and heavy laden." Even
Dickens, whose mind naturally sought and
fed upon the comic, saw wrong and oppression
in the "humane institutions" of his
own land!

And Macaulay gives a painful picture of
Mme. D'Arblay's life as waiting-maid to
Queen Charlotte - from which we are not to

Mme. D'Arblay - whose maiden name
was Frances Burney - was the first female
novelist in England who deserved and
received the applause of her countrymen.
The most eminent men of London paid
homage to her genius. Johnson, Burke,
Windham, Gibbon, Reynolds, Sheridan, were
her friends and ardent eulogists. In the
midst of her literary fame, surrounded by
congenial friends, herself a star in this select
and brilliant coterie, she was offered the
place of waiting-maid in the palace. She
accepted the position, and bade farewell to
all congenial friends and pursuits. "And
now began," says Macaulay, "a slavery of
five years - of five years taken from the best
part of her life, and wasted in menial
drudgery. The history of an ordinary day
was this: Miss Burney had to rise and dress
herself early, that she might be ready to
answer the royal bell, which rang at half
after seven. Till about eight she attended
in the queen's dressing-room, and had the
honor of lacing her august mistress's stays,
and of putting on the hoop, gown, and neck-handkerchief.

The morning was chiefly
spent in rummaging drawers and laying fine
clothes in their proper places. Then the
queen was to be powdered and dressed for
the day. Twice a week her Majesty's hair
had to be curled and craped; and this
operation added a full hour to the business
of the toilet. It was generally three before
Miss Burney was at liberty. At five she had
to attend her colleague, Mme. Schwellenberg,
a hateful old toadeater, as illiterate as
a chambermaid, proud, rude, peevish, unable
to bear solitude, unable to conduct herself
with common decency in society. With this
delightful associate Frances Burney had to
dine and pass the evening. The pair generally
remained together from five to eleven,
and often had no other company the whole
time. Between eleven and twelve the bell
rang again. Miss Burney had to pass a half
hour undressing the queen, and was then at
liberty to retire.

"Now and then, indeed, events occurred
which disturbed the wretched monotony of
Frances Burney's life. The court moved
from Kew to Windsor, and from Windsor
back to Kew.

"A more important occurrence was the
king's visit to Oxford. Then Miss Burney
had the honor of entering Oxford in the last
of a long string of carriages, which formed
the royal procession, of walking after the
queen all day through refectories and
chapels, and of standing half dead with
fatigue and hunger, while her august mistress
was seated at an excellent cold collation.
At Magdalen College Frances was left for
a moment in a parlor, where she sank
down on a chair. A good-natured equerry
saw that she was exhausted, and shared with
her some apricots and bread, which he had
wisely put in his pockets. At that moment
the door opened, the queen entered, the
wearied attendants sprang up, the bread and
fruit were hastily concealed.

"After this the king became very ill, and
during more than two years after his recovery
Frances dragged on a miserable existence
at the palace. Mme. Schwellenberg became
more and more insolent and intolerable,
and now the health of poor Frances began
to give way: and all who saw her pale face,
her emaciated figure, and her feeble walk predicted
that her sufferings would soon be over.

"The queen seems to have been utterly
regardless of the comfort, the health, the life,
of her attendants, Weak, feverish, hardly
able to stand, Frances had still to rise before
seven, in order to dress the sweet queen, and
sit up till midnight, in order to undress the
sweet queen. The indisposition of the handmaid
could not and did not escape the notice
of her royal mistress. But the established
doctrine of the court was that all sickness
was to be considered as a pretense until it
proved fatal. The only way in which the
invalid could clear herself from the suspicion
of malingering, as it is called in the army,
was to go on lacing and unlacing, till she
fell down dead at the royal feet."

Finally Miss Burney's father pays her a
visit in this palace prison, when "she told
him that she was miserable; that she was
worn with attendance and want of sleep;
that she had no comfort in life, - nothing to
love, nothing to hope; that her family and
friends were to her as though they were not,
and were remembered by her as men remember
the dead. From daybreak to midnight
the same killing labor, the same recreation,
more hateful than labor itself, followed

each other without variety, without any
interval of liberty or repose."

Her father's veneration for royalty
amounting to idolatry, he could not bear to
remove her from the court - "and, between
the dear father and the sweet queen, there
seemed to be little doubt that some day or
other Frances would drop down a corpse.
Six months had elapsed since the interview
between the parent and the daughter. The
resignation was not sent in. The sufferer
grew worse and worse. She took bark, but
it failed to produce a beneficial effect.
She was stimulated with wine; she was
soothed with opium, but in vain. Her
breath began to fail. The whisper that she
was in a decline spread through the court.
The pains in her side became so severe that
she was forced to crawl from the card-table
of the old fury, Mme. Schwellenberg, to
whom she was tethered, three or four times
in an evening, for the purpose of taking
hartshorn. Had she been a negro slave, a
humane planter would have excused her
from work. But her Majesty showed no
mercy. Thrice a day the accursed bell still
rang; the queen was still to be dressed for

the morning at seven, and to be dressed for the
day at noon, and to be undressed at midnight."

At last Miss Burney's father was moved
to compassion and allowed her to write a
letter of resignation. "Still I could not,"
writes Miss Burney in her diary, "summon
courage to present my memorial from seeing
the queen's entire freedom from such
an expectation. For though I was frequently
so ill in her presence that I could
hardly stand, I saw she concluded me, while
life remained, inevitably hers.

"At last, with a trembling hand, the
paper was delivered. Then came the storm.
Mme. Schwellenberg raved like a maniac.
The resignation was not accepted. The
father's fears were aroused, and he declared,
in a letter meant to be shown to the queen,
that his daughter must retire. The Schwellenberg
raged like a wildcat. A scene
almost horrible ensued.

"The queen then promised that, after the
next birthday, Miss Burney should be set at
liberty. But the promise was ill kept; and
her Majesty showed displeasure at being
reminded of it."

opened, and Frances was free once more.
Her health was restored by traveling, and
she returned to London in health and
spirits. Macaulay tells us that she went to
visit the palace, " her old dungeon, and fond
her successor already far on the way to the
grave, and kept to strict duty, from morning
till midnight, with a sprained ankle and a
nervous fever."

An ignorant and unlettered woman would
doubtless not have found this life in the
palace tedious, and our sympathy would not
have been aroused for her; for as long as
the earth lasts there must be human beings
fitted for every station, and it is supposed,
till the end of all things, there must be
cooks, housemaids, and dining-room servants,
which will make it never possible for
the whole human family to stand entirely
upon the same platform socially and intellectually.
And Miss Burney's wretchedness,
which calls forth our sympathy, was
not because she had to perform the duties
of waiting-maid, but because to a gifted and
educated woman these duties were uncongenial;
and congeniality means happiness;
uncongeniality, unhappiness.

CHAPTER XIV.

FROM the sorrows of
Miss Burney in the
palace - a striking contrast with the menials
described in our own country homes - I
will turn to another charming place on the
James River - Powhatan Seat, a mile below
Richmond, which had descended in the
Mayo family two hundred years.

Here, it was said, the Indian chief Powhatan
had lived, and here was shown the
veritable stone supposed to have been the
one upon which Captain Smith's head was
laid, when the Indian princess Pocahontas
rescued him.

This historic stone, near the parlor window,
was only an ugly, dark, broad, flat
stone, but imagination pictured ever around
it the Indian group, Smith's head upon it,
the infuriated chief with uplifted club in
the act of dealing the death-blow, the grief
and shriek of Pocahontas as she threw herself
upon Smith, imploring her father to

spare him, - a piercing cry to have penetrated
the heart of the savage chief!

Looking out from the parlor window and
imagining this savage scene, how strange a
contrast met the eye within! Around the
fireside assembled the loveliest family group,
where kindness and affection beamed in
every eye, and father, mother, brothers, and
sisters were linked together by tenderest
devotion and sympathy.

If natural scenery reflects itself upon the
heart, no wonder a "holy calm" rested upon
this family, for far down the river the prospect
was peace and tranquillity; and many
an evening in the summer-house on the river
bank we drank in the beauty of soft blue
skies, green isles, and white sails floating in
the distance.

Many in Richmond remember the delightful
weddings and parties at Powhatan Seat,
where assembled the élite from Richmond,
with an innumerable throng of cousins,
aunts, and uncles from Orange and Culpeper
counties.

On these occasions the house was illuminated
by wax lights issuing from bouquets
of magnolia leaves placed around the

walls near the ceiling, and looking prettier
than any glass chandelier.

We, from a distance, generally stayed a
week after the wedding, becoming, as it
were, a part of the family circle; and the
bride did not rush off on a tour as is the
fashion nowadays, but remained quietly at
home, enjoying the society of her family
and friends.

One feature I have omitted in describing
our weddings and parties - invariably
a part of the picture - was the sea of black
faces surrounding the doors and windows
to look on the dancing, hear the music,
and afterward get a good share of the
supper.

Tourists often went to walk around the
beautiful grounds at Powhatan - so neatly
kept with sea-shells around the flowers, and
pleasant seats under the lindens and magnolias -
and to see the historic stone; but I
often thought they knew not what was
missed in not knowing, as we did, the
lovely family within.

But, for us, those rare, beautiful days at
Powhatan are gone forever; for since the
war the property has passed into strange

During the late war heavy
guns were
placed in the family burying-ground on this
plantation - a point commanding the river;
and here was interred the child of a distinguished
general
* in the Northern army -
a Virginian, formerly in the United States
army - who had married a member of the
Powhatan family. He was expected to
make an attack upon Richmond, and over
his child's grave was placed a gun to fire
upon him. Such are the unnatural incidents
of civil war.

About two miles from
Powhatan Seat was
another beautiful old place - Mount Erin -
the plantation formerly of a family all of
whom, except two sisters, had died. The
estate, becoming involved, had to be sold,
which so grieved and distressed these sisters
that they passed hours weeping if accidentally
the name of their old home was mentioned
in their presence.

Once when we were at
Powhatan, and
these ladies were among the guests, a member
of the Powhatan family ordered the
carriage, and took my sister and myself to

Mount Erin, telling us to keep it a secret
when we returned, for "the sisters," said
she, "would neither eat nor sleep if reminded
of their old home."

A pleasant drive brought us to Mount
Erin, and when we saw the box hedges,
gravel walks, and linden trees we were no
longer surprised at the grief of the sisters
whose hearts entwined around their old
home. The house was in charge of an old
negro woman - the purchaser not having
moved in - who showed us over the grounds;
and every shrub and flower seemed to speak
of days gone by. Even the ivy on the old
bricks looked gloomy, as if mourning the
light, mirth, and song departed from the
house forever; and the walks gave back a
deadened echo, as if they wished not to be
disturbed by stranger tread. All seemed in
a reverie, dreaming a long sweet dream of
the past, and entering into the grief of the
sisters, who lived afterward for many years
in a pleasant home on a pleasant street in
Richmond, with warm friends to serve them,
yet their tears never ceased to flow at the
mention of Mount Erin.

One more plantation picture, and enough
will have been described to show the
character of the homes and people on our
plantations.

The last place visited by my sister and
myself before the war of 1861 was Elkwood,
a fine estate in Culpeper County,
four miles from the railroad station, the residence
of Richard Cunningham.

It was the last of June. The country
was a scene of enchantment as the carriage
rolled us through dark, cool forests, green
meadows, fields of waving grain; out of the
forests into acres of broad-leaved corn;
across pebble-bottomed streams, and along
the margin of the Rapidan, which flowed at
the base of the hill leading up to the house.

The house was square and white, and the
blinds green as the grass lawn and trees in
the yard. Inside the house the polished
"dry rubbed" floors, clean and cool, refreshed
one on entering like a glass of iced
lemonade on a midsummer's day. The old-fashioned
furniture against the walls looked
as if it thought too much of itself to be set
about promiscuously over the floor, like
modern fauteuils and divans.

About everything was an air of dignity
and repose corresponding with the manners
and appearance of the proprietors, who
were called "Uncle Dick" and "Aunt
Jenny" - the a in "Aunt" pronounced very
broad.

Aunt Jenny and Uncle Dick had no children,
but took care of numerous nieces
and nephews, kept their house filled to
overflowing with friends, relatives, and
strangers, and were revered and beloved by
all. They had no pleasure so great as taking
care of other people. They lived for
other people, and made everybody comfortable
and happy around them. From
the time Uncle Dick had prayers in the
morning until family prayers at bedtime
they were busy bestowing some kindness.

Uncle Dick's character and manners were
of a type so high that one felt elevated
in his presence; and a desire to reach his
standard animated those who knew him.
His precept and example were such that all
who followed them might arrive at the
highest perfection of Christian character.

Uncle Dick had requested Aunt Jenny,
when they were married, forty years before,

to have on his table every day dinner enough
for six more persons than were already in
the house, "in case," he said, "he should
meet friends or acquaintances, while riding
over his plantation or in the neighborhood,
whom he wished to ask home with him to
dinner." This having been always a rule,
Aunt Jenny never sat at her table without
dinner enough for six more, - and hers were
no commonplace dinners; no hasty-puddings,
no saleratus bread, no soda cakes, no
frozen-starch ice-cream, no modern shorthand
recipes, but genuine old Virginia cooking.
And all who want to know what that
was can find out all about it in Aunt Jenny's
book of copied recipes - if it is extant - or
in that of Mrs. Harrison, of Brandon. But
as neither of these books may ever be known
to the public, their "sum and substance"
may be given in a few words:

"Have no shams. Procure an abundance
of the freshest, richest real cream, milk,
eggs, butter, lard, best old Madeira wine, all
the way from Madeira, and never use a
particle of soda or saleratus about anything
or under any pressure."

used, for Uncle Dick had rare old wine in
his cellar which he had brought from
Europe thirty years before, and every day
was a feast-day at Elkwood. And the wedding
breakfasts Aunt Jenny used to get up
when one of her nieces married at her
house - as they sometimes did - were beyond
description.

While at Elkwood, observing every day
that the carriage went to the depot empty
and returned empty, we inquired the reason,
and were informed that Uncle Dick, ever
since the cars had been passing near his
plantation, ordered his coachman to have
the carriage every day at the station, "in
case some of his friends might be on the
train, and might like to stop and see
him"!

Another hospitable rule in Uncle Dick's
house was that company must never be kept
waiting in his parlor, and so anxious was
his young niece to meet his approbation in
this as in every particular that she had
a habit of dressing herself carefully, arranging
her hair beautifully - it was in the days,
too, when smooth hair was fashionable -
before lying down for the afternoon siesta,

"in case," she said, "someone might call,
and Uncle Dick had a horror of visitors
waiting." This process of reposing in a
fresh muslin dress and fashionably arranged
hair required a particular and uncomfortable
position, which she seemed not to mind, but
dozed in the most precise manner without
rumpling her hair or her dress.

Elkwood was a favorite place of resort
for Episcopal ministers, whom Aunt Jenny
and Uncle Dick loved to entertain. And
here we met the Rev. Philip Slaughter, the
learned divine, eloquent preacher, and charming
companion. He had just returned from
a visit to England, where he had been entertained
in palaces. Telling us the incidents
of his visit, "I was much embarrassed at
first," said he, "at the thought of attending
a dinner-party given in a palace to me, a
simple Virginian, but, on being announced
at the drawing-room door and entering the
company, I felt at once at ease, for they
were all ladies and gentlemen, such as I had
known at home - polite, pleasant, and without
pretense."

This gentleman's conversational powers
were not only bright and delightful, but also

the means of turning many to righteousness
- for religion was one of his chief themes.

A proof of his genius and eloquence was
given in the beautiful poem recited - without
ever having been written - at the centennial
anniversary of old Christ Church in
Alexandria. This was the church in which
General Washington and his family had
worshiped, and around it clustered many
memories. Mr. Slaughter, with several
others, had been invited to make an address
on the occasion, and one night, while thinking
about it, an exquisite poem passed
through his mind, picturing scene after scene
in the old church - General Washington, with
his head bowed in silent prayer; infants at
the baptismal font; young men and maidens
in bridal array at the altar; and funeral trains
passing through the open gate.

On the night of the celebration, when his
turn came, finding the hour too late and the
audience too sleepy for his prose address,
he suddenly determined to "dash off" the
poem, every word of which came back to
him, although he had never written it. The
audience roused up electrified, and, as the
recitation proceeded, their enthusiasm

reached the highest pitch. Never had
there been such a sensation in the old
church before. And, next morning, the
house at which he was stopping was besieged
by reporters begging "copies" and
offering good prices, but the poem remains
unwritten to this day.

Elkwood, like many other old homes,
was burned by the Northern army in 1862,
and not a tree or flower remains to mark the
spot that for so many years was the abode
of hospitality and good cheer.

In connection with Culpeper County, it is
due here to state that it excelled all others
in ancient and dilapidated buggies and
carriages, seeming to be a regular infirmary
for all the disabled vehicles of the Old
Dominion. Here their age and infirmities
received every care and consideration, being
propped up, tied up, and bandaged up in
every conceivable manner; and, strangest of
all, rarely depositing their occupants in the
road, which was prevented by cautious old
gentlemen riding alongside, who, watching
for and discovering the weakest points,
stopped and securely tied up fractured parts
with bits of twine, rope, or chain always

carried in buggy- or carriage-boxes for that
purpose. These surgical operations, although
not ornamental, strengthened and sustained
these venerable vehicles, and produced a
miraculous longevity.

Many more sketches might be given of
pleasant country homes - themes worthy a
better pen than mine; for Brandon, Westover,
Shirley, Carter Hall, Lauderdale, Vaucluse,
and others, linger in the memory of hundreds
who once knew and loved them -
especially Vaucluse, which, although far
removed from railroads, stage-coaches, and
public conveyances, was overflowing with
company throughout the year. For the
Vaucluse girls were so bright, so fascinating,
and so bewitchingly pretty, that they attracted
a concourse of visitors, and were sure
to be belles wherever they went.

And many remember the owner of Vaucluse,
Mr. Blair Dabney, that pure-hearted
Christian and cultivated gentleman who,
late in life, devoted himself to the Episcopal
ministry, and labored faithfully in the Master's
cause, preaching in country churches,
"without money and without price." Surely
his reward is in heaven.

Besides these well-ordered establishments,
there were some others owned by inactive
men, who smoked their pipes, read their
books, left everything very much to the
management of their negroes, and seemed
content to let things tumble down around
them.

One of these places we used to call
"Topsy Turvy Castle," and another "Haphazard."

At such places the negro quarters - instead
of being neat rows of white cabins in the
rear of the house, as on other plantations -
occupied a conspicuous place near the front,
and consisted of a solid, long, ugly brick
structure, with swarms of negroes around
the windows and doors, appearing to have
nothing in the world to do and never to have
done anything.

Everything had a "shackling," lazy appearance.
The master was always, it appeared
to us, reading a newspaper in the
front porch, and never observing anything
that was going on. The house was so full
of idle negroes standing about the halls and
stairways that one could scarcely make one's
way up or down stairs. Everything needed

repair, from the bed upon which you slept
to the family coach which took you to
church.

Few of the chairs had all their rounds and
legs, and, when completely disabled, were
sent to the garret, where they accumulated
in great numbers, and remained until pressing
necessity induced the master to raise his
eyes from his paper long enough to order
"Dick" to "take the four-horse wagon and
carry the chairs to be mended."

A multitude of kinsfolk and acquaintance
usually congregated here. And at
one place, in order to accommodate so many,
there were four beds in a chamber. These
high bedsteads presented a remarkable appearance,
- the head of one going into the
side of another, the foot of one into the
head of another, and so on, looking as if
they had never been "placed," but as if
their curious juxtaposition had been the
result of an earthquake.

One of these houses is said to have been
greatly improved in appearance during the
war by the passage of a cannon-ball through
the upper story, where a window had been
needed for many years.

But the owners of these places were so
genuinely good, one could not complain of
them, even for such carelessness. For
everybody was welcome to everything.
You might stop the plows if you wanted
a horse, or take the carriage and drive for a
week's journey, and, in short, impose upon
these good people in every conceivable way.

Yet, in spite of this topsy-turvy management -
a strange fact connected with such
places - they invariably had good light-bread,
good mutton, and the usual abundance
on their tables.

We suppose it must have been a recollection
of such plantations which induced the
negro to exclaim, on hearing another sing
"Ole Virginny Nubber Tire": "Umph! ole
Virginny nubber tire, kase she nubber done
nuthin' fur to furtigue herself!"

CHAPTER XV.

CONFINING these
reminiscences strictly to
plantation life, no mention has been made
of the families we knew and visited in some
of our cities, whose kindness to their slaves
was unmistakable, and who, owning only a
small number, could better afford to indulge
them.

At one of these houses this indulgence
was such that the white family were very
much under the control of their servants.

The owner of this house, Charles Mosby,
an eminent lawyer, was a man of taste and
learning, whose legal ability attracted many
admirers, and whose refinement, culture, and
generous nature won enthusiastic friends.

Although considered the owner of his
house, it was a mistake, if ownership means
the right to govern one's own property;
for beyond his law-papers, library, and the
privilege of paying all the bills, this gentleman
had no "rights" there whatever, his

house, kitchen, and premises being under
the entire command of "Aunt Fanny," the
cook, a huge mulatto woman, whose word
was law, and whose voice thundered abuse
if any dared to disobey her.

The master, mistress, family, and visitors
all stood in awe of Aunt Fanny, and yet
could not do without her, for she made
unapproachable light-bread and conducted
the affairs of the place with distinguished
ability.

Her own house was in the yard, and had
been built especially for her convenience.
Her furniture was polished mahogany, and
she kept most delicious preserves, pickles,
and sweetmeats of her own manufacture,
with which to regale her friends and favorites.
As we came under that head, we
were often treated when we went in to see
her after her day's work was over, or on
Sundays.

Although she "raved and stormed" considerably -
which she told us she was
"obliged to do, honey, to keep things
straight" - she had the tenderest regard for
her master and mistress, and often said:
"If it warn't for me, they'd have nuthin'

So Aunt Fanny "kept up this family," as
she said, for many years, and many amusing
incidents might be related of her.

On one occasion her master, after a long
and exciting political contest, was elected to
the legislature. Before all the precincts
had been heard from, believing himself defeated,
he retired to rest, and, being naturally
feeble, was quite worn out. But at
midnight a great cry arose at his gate, where
a multitude assembled, screaming and hurrahing.
At first he was uncertain whether
they were friends to congratulate him on his
victory or the opposite party to hang him,
as they had threatened, for voting an appropriation
to the Danville Railroad. It soon
appeared they had come to congratulate
him, when great excitement prevailed, loud
cheers, and cries for a speech. The doors
were opened and the crowd rushed in. The
hero soon appeared and delivered one of his
graceful and satisfactory speeches.

Still the crowd remained cheering and
storming about the house, until Aunt
Fanny, who had made her appearance in

full dress, considering the excitement had
been kept up long enough, and that the
master's health was too delicate for any further
demonstration, determined to disperse
them. Rising to her full height, waving her
hand, and speaking majestically, she said:
"Gentlemen, Mars' Charles is a feeble pusson,
an' it's time for him to take his res'.
He's been kep' 'wake long enough now,
an' it's time for me to close up dese
doors!"

With this the crowd dispersed, and Aunt
Fanny remained mistress of the situation,
declaring that if she "hadn't come forward
an' 'spersed dat crowd, Mars' Charles would
have been a dead man befo' mornin'."

Aunt Fanny kept herself liberally supplied
with pocket-money, one of her chief
sources of revenue being soap, which she
made in large quantities and sold at high
prices; especially what she called her "butter
soap," which was in great demand, and
which was made from all the butter which
she did not consider fresh enough for the
delicate appetites of her mistress and master.
She appropriated one of the largest
basement rooms, had it shelved, and filled it

with soap. In order to carry on business so
extensively, huge logs were kept blazing on
the kitchen hearth under the soap-pot day
and night. During the war, wood becoming
scarce and expensive, "Mars' Charles" found
that it drained his purse to keep the kitchen
fire supplied.

Thinking the matter over one day in his
library, and concluding it would greatly
lessen his expenses if Aunt Fanny could be
prevailed upon to discontinue her soap trade,
he sent for her, and said very mildly:

"Fanny, I have a proposition to make
you."

"What is it, Mars' Charles?"

"Well, Fanny, as my expenses are very
heavy now, if you will give up your soap-boiling
for this year, I will agree to pay you
fifty dollars."

With arms akimbo, and looking at him
with astonishment but with firmness in her
eye, she replied: "Couldn't possibly do it,
Mars' Charles; because soap, sir, soap's my
main-tain-ance!"

With this she strode majestically out of
the room. "Mars' Charles" said no more,
but continued paying fabulous sums for

This woman not only ordered but kept
all the family supplies, her mistress having
no disposition to keep the keys or in any
way interfere with her.

But at last her giant strength gave way,
and she sickened and died. Having no
children, she left her property to one of her
fellow-servants.

Several days before her death we were
sitting with her mistress and master in a
room overlooking her house. Her room was
crowded with negroes who had come to perform
their religious rites around the deathbed.
Joining hands, they performed a
savage dance, shouting wildly around her
bed. This was horrible to hear and see
especially as in this family every effort had
been made to instruct their negro dependents
in the truths of religion; and one
member of the family, who spent the
greater part of her life in prayer, had for
years prayed for Aunt Fanny and tried
to instruct her in the true faith. But although
an intelligent woman, she seemed to
cling to the superstitions of her race.

After the savage dance and rites were
over, and while we sat talking about it, a
gentleman - the friend and minister of the
family - came in. We described to him
what we had just witnessed, and he deplored
it bitterly with us, saying he had read and
prayed with Aunt Fanny and tried to
make her see the truth in Jesus. He then
marked some passages in the Bible, and
asked me to go and read them to her. I
went, and said to her: "Aunt Fanny, here
are some verses Mr. Mitchell has marked for
me to read to you, and he hopes you will
pray to the Saviour as he taught you."
Then said I: "We are afraid the noise and
dancing have made you worse."

And thus died the most intelligent of her
race - one who had been surrounded by
pious persons who had been praying for her
and endeavoring to instruct her. She had
also enjoyed through life not only the comforts
but many of the luxuries of earth,
and when she died her mistress and master
lost a sincere friend.

CHAPTER XVI.

THIS chapter will show
how "Virginia
beat biscuit" procured for a man a home
and friends in Paris.

One morning in the spring of 185-, a
singular-looking man presented himself at
our house. He was short of stature, and
enveloped in furs, although the weather was
not cold. Everything about him which
could be gold, was gold, and so we called
him "the gold-tipped man." He called for
my mother, and when she went into the
parlor, he said to her:

"Madam, I have been stopping several
weeks at the hotel in the town of L.,
where I met a boy - Robert - who tells me
he belongs to you. As I want such a servant,
and he is anxious to travel, I come, at
his request, to ask if you will let me buy
him and take him to Europe. I will pay
any price."

coming to say "good-by," and wrote his
mother from New York what day he would
sail with his new master for Europe.

At first his mother received from him
presents and letters, telling her he was very
much delighted, and "had as much money
as he knew what to do with." But after a
few months he ceased to write, and we
could hear nothing from him.

At length, when eighteen months had
elapsed, we were one day astonished to see
him return home, dressed in the best Parisian
style. We were rejoiced to see him again,
and his own joy at getting back cannot be
described. He ran over the yard and house,
examining everything, and said: "Mistess,
I aint see no place pretty as yours, an' no
lady look to me like you in all de finest
places I bin see in Europ', an' no water tas'e
good like de water in our ole well. An' I
dream 'bout you all, an' 'bout ev'y ole chur
an' table in dis house, an' wonder ef uvver
I'd see 'um ag'in."

He then gave us a sketch of his life since
the "gold-tipped man" had become his
master. Arrived in Paris, his master and
himself took lodgings, and a teacher was

employed to come every day and instruct
Robert in French. His master kept him
well supplied with money, never giving him
less than fifty dollars at a time. His duties
were light, and he had ample time to study
and amuse himself.

After enjoying such elegant ease for
eight or nine months he awoke one morning
and found himself deserted and penniless!
His master had absconded in the
night, leaving no vestige of himself except a
gold dressing-case and a few toilet articles
of gold, which were seized by the proprietor
of the hotel in payment of his bill.

Poor Robert, without money and without
a friend in this great city, knew not where
to turn. In vain he wished himself back in
his old home.

"If I could only find some Virginian to
whom I could appeal," said he to himself.
And suddenly it occurred to him that the
American Minister, Mr. Mason, was a Virginian.
When he remembered this, his
heart was cheered, and he lost no time in
finding Mr. Mason's house.

Presenting himself before the American
Minister, he related his story, which was not

at first believed. "For," said Mr. Mason,
"there are so many impostors in Paris it is
impossible to believe you."

Robert protested he had been a slave in
Virginia, had been deserted by his owner
in Paris, and begged Mr. Mason to keep him
at his house, and take care of him.

Then Mr. M. asked many questions about
people and places in Virginia, all of which
were accurately answered. Finally he said:
"I knew well the Virginia gentleman who
was, you say, your master. What was the
color of his hair?" This was also satisfactorily
answered, and Robert began to
hope he was believed, when Mr. Mason continued:

"Now, there is one thing which, if you
can do, will convince me you came from
Virginia. Go in my kitchen and make me
some old Virginia beat biscuit, and I will
believe everything you have said!"

"I think I kin, sir," said Robert, and,
going into the kitchen, rolled up his sleeves,
and set to work.

This was a desperate moment, for he had
never made a biscuit in his life, although
he had often watched the proceeding as

"Black Mammy," the cook at home, used
to beat, roll, and manipulate the dough on
her biscuit-box.

"If I only could make them look like
hers!" thought he as he beat, and rolled,
and worked, and finally stuck the dough all
over with a fork. Then, cutting them out
and putting them to bake, he watched them
with nervous anxiety until they resembled
those he had often placed on the table at
home.

Astonished and delighted with his success,
he carried them to the American Minister,
who exclaimed: "Now I know you came
from old Virginia!"

Robert was immediately installed in Mr.
John Y. Mason's house, where he remained
a faithful attendant until Mr. Mason's
death, when he returned with the family to
America.

Arriving at New York, he thought it impossible
to get along by himself, and determined
to find his master. For this purpose
he employed a policeman, and together they
succeeded in recovering "the lost master," -
this being a singular instance of a "slave
in pursuit of his fugitive master."

The "gold-tipped man" expressed much
pleasure at his servant's fidelity, and, handing
him a large sum of money, desired him
to return to Paris, pay his bill, bring back
his gold dressing box and toilet articles, and,
as a reward for his fidelity, take as much
money as he wished and travel over the
Continent.

Robert obeyed these commands, returned
to Paris, paid the bills, traveled over the
chief places in Europe, and then came again
to New York. Here he was appalled to
learn that his master had been arrested for
forgery, and imprisoned in Philadelphia. It
was ascertained that the forger was an Englishman
and connected with an underground
forgery establishment in Paris. Finding
himself about to be detected in Paris, he fled
to New York, and, other forgeries having
been discovered in Philadelphia, he had
been arrested.

Robert lost no time in reporting himself
at the prison, and was grieved to find his
master in such a place.

Determined to do what he could to relieve
the man who had been a good friend to
him, he went to a Philadelphia lawyer, and

said to him: "Sir, the man who is in prison
bought me in Virginia, and has been a kind
master to me; I have no money, but if you
will do your best to have him acquitted, I
will return to the South, sell myself, and
send you the money."

"It is a
bargain," replied the lawyer.
"Send me the money, and I will save your
master from the penitentiary."

Robert returned to
Baltimore, sold himself
to a Jew in that city, and sent the
money to the lawyer in Philadelphia. After
this he was bought by a distinguished
Southern Senator - afterward a general in
the Southern army
* - with whom he remained,
and to whom he rendered valuable
services during the war.

. . . . .

Other instances were
known of negroes
who preferred being sold into slavery rather
than take care of themselves. There were
some in our immediate neighborhood who,
finding themselves emancipated by their
master's will, begged the owners of neighboring
plantations to buy them, saying they
preferred having "white people to take care

of them." On the Wheatly plantation,
not far from us, there is still living an old
negro who sold himself in this way, and cannot
be persuaded now to accept his freedom.
After the war, when all the negroes were
freed by the Federal government, and our
people were too much impoverished longer
to clothe and feed them, this old man refused
to leave the plantation, but clung to
his cabin, although his wife and family
moved off and begged him to accompany
them.

Not even when his wife was very sick and
dying could he be persuaded to go off and
stay one night with her. He had long been
too old to work, but his former owners indulged
him by giving him his cabin, and
taking care of him through all the poverty
which has fallen upon our land since the
war.

Many of us remember this old man, Harrison
Mitchell, who was an unusual character,
high-toned and reliable. His father was an
Indian and his mother a negress. He resembled

the Indian, with straight black hair,
brown skin, and high cheek-bones. His
great pride was that he had "cum out de
Patrick Henry estate an use to run a freight
boat wid flour down de Jeemes Ruver fum
Lynchbu'g to Richmon' long fo' dar was a
sign o' town at Lynch's Ferry." But his
great and consuming theme, especially after
the war, was the impossibility of the negroes
taking care of themselves "bedout no white
man," and nothing ever reconciled him to
his own freedom. Taking his seat in our
back porch, where my mother usually entertained
him, we would assemble to hear him
talk. I would ask: "Well, Uncle Harrison,
what do you think of freedom now after ten
years?"

o' me. I looks to my white folks to take kur
o' me. I 'lonks to Mar' Robert an' aint
gwine lef his plantation tell I die. What
right Yankees got settin' me free, an' den
karn't take kur o' me? No! niggers is niggers,
an' gwine be niggers, an' white folks
got to take kur on 'em tell end o' screeation.
An' der Lord gwine put ev'y single one
on em back in slavery jes' as sure as you
born."

True to his word, old Harrison refused to
wear an article of clothing "ef de white
folks didn't give it to him." And his daughter,
wishing to give him a blanket, asked her
former young mistress to let him think it
was from her, or he would not take it.

At last "Mars' Robert" was on his deathbed.
Old Harrison went in to see him for
the last time.

"Mars' Robert," said he, "I got one
reques' to make fo' you die."

"What is it?" asked his master.

"Mars' Robert, I want to be buried right
outside de gate o' de garden lot where you
an' Miss Lucy is buried, so I kin see you
fus' on de mornin' o' de resurrection."

CHAPTER XVII.

O BRIGHT-WINGED peace!
long didst
thou rest o'er the homes of old Virginia;
while cheerful wood fires blazed on hearth-stones
in parlor and cabin, reflecting contented
faces with hearts full of peace and
good will toward men! No thought entered
there of harm to others; no fear of evil to
ourselves. Whatsoever things were honest,
whatsoever things were pure, whatsoever
things were gentle, whatsoever things were
of good report, we were accustomed to hear
around these parlor firesides; and often
would our grandmothers say:

"Children, ours is a blessed country!
There never will be another war! The
Indians have long ago been driven out, and
it has been nearly a hundred years since the
English yoke was broken!"

The history of our country, to our minds,
was contained in two pictures on the walls
of our house: "The Last Battle with the

No enemies within or
without our borders,
and peace established among us forever!
Such was our belief. And we wondered
that men should get together and talk their
dry politics, seeing that General Washington
and Thomas Jefferson - two of our Virginia
plantation men - had established a government
to last as long as the earth, and which
could not be improved. Yet they would
talk, these politicians, around our parlor fire,
where often our patience was exhausted
hearing discussions, in which we could not
take interest, about the Protective Tariff,
the Bankrupt Law, the Distribution of Public
Lands, the Resolutions of '98, the Missouri
Compromise, and the Monroe Doctrine.
These topics seemed to afford them intense
pleasure and satisfaction, for, as the "sparks
fly upward," the thoughts of men turn to
politics.

In 1859 we had a visit
from two old
friends of our family - a distinguished
Southern Senator and the Secretary of
War
* - both accustomed to swaying
multitudes

by the power of their eloquence -
which lost none of its force and charm in
our little home circle. We listened with
admiration as they discussed the political
issues of the day - no longer a subject uninteresting
or unintelligible to us, for every
word was of vital importance. Their theme
was, The best means of protecting our plantation
homes and firesides. Even the smallest
children now comprehended the greatest
politicians.

Now came the full flow
and tide of
Southern eloquence - real soul-inspiring eloquence.

Many possessing this gift
were in the
habit of visiting us at that time; and all
dwelt upon one theme - the secession of
Virginia - with glowing words from hearts
full of enthusiasm; all agreeing it was
better for States, as well as individuals, to
separate rather than quarrel or fight.

But there was one
* - our oldest and best
friend - who differed from these gentlemen;
and his eloquence was gentle and effective.
Unlike his friends, whose words, earnest and
electric, overwhelmed all around, this gentleman's

power was in his composure of manner
without vehemence. His words were well
selected without seeming to have been
studied; each sentence was short, but contained
a gem, like a solitaire diamond.

For several months this gentleman remained
untouched by the fiery eloquence of
his friends, like the Hebrew children in the
burning furnace. Nothing affected him
until one day the President of the United
States demanded by telegraph fifty thousand
Virginians to join an army against South
Carolina. And then this gentleman felt
convinced it was not the duty of Virginians
to join an army against their friends.

About this time we had some very
interesting letters from the Hon. Edward
Everett - who had been for several
years a friend and agreeable correspondent -
giving us his views on the subject, and
very soon after this all communication
between the North and South ceased, except
through the blockade, for four long
years.

And then came the long dark days - the
days when the sun seemed to shine no
more; when the eyes of wives, mothers, and

sisters were heavy with weeping; when men
sat up late in the night studying military
tactics; when grief burdened hearts turned
to God in prayer.

The intellectual gladiators who had discoursed
eloquently of war around our fireside
buckled their armor on and went forth
to battle.

Band after band of brave-hearted, bright-faced
youths from Southern plantation
homes came to bleed and die on Virginia
soil; and for four long years old Virginia
was one great camping-ground, hospital, and
battlefield. The roar of cannon and the
clash of arms resounded over the land. The
groans of the wounded and dying went up
from hillside and valley. The hearts of
women and children were sad and care-worn.
But God, to whom we prayed, protected
us in our plantation homes, where no
white men or even boys remained, all having
gone into the army. Only the negro
slaves stayed with us, and these were encouraged
by our enemies to rise and slay
us; but God in his mercy willed otherwise.
Although advised to burn our property and
incited by the enemy to destroy their former

owners, these negro slaves remained faithful,
manifesting kindness, and in many instances
protecting the white families and plantations
during their masters' absence.

Oh! the long terrible nights passed by
these helpless women and children, the
enemy encamped around them, the clash of
swords heard against the doors and windows,
the report of guns on the air which might
be sending death to their loved ones!

But why try to describe the horrors of
such nights? Who that has not experienced
them can know how we felt? Who can
imagine the heartsickness when, stealing to
an upper window at midnight, we watched
the fierce flames rising from some neighboring
home, expecting our own to be destroyed
by the enemy before daylight in the same
way?

Such pictures, dark and fearful, were the
only ones familiar to us in old Virginia those
four dreadful years.

At last the end came - the end which
seemed to us saddest of all. But God knoweth
best. Though "through fiery trials" he
had caused us to pass, he had not forsaken
us. For was not his mercy signally shown

in the failure of the enemy to incite our
negro slaves to insurrection during the war?
Through his mercy those who were expected
to become our enemies remained our friends
And in our own home, surrounded by the
enemy those terrible nights, our only guard
was a faithful negro servant who slept in the
house, and went out every hour to see if we
were in immediate danger; while his mother -
the kind old nurse - sat all night in a rocking-chair
in our room, ready to help us.
Had we not, then, amid all our sorrows
much to be thankful for?

Among such scenes one of the last pictures
photographed on my memory was that
of a negro boy who was very ill with typhoid
fever in a cabin not far off, and who became
greatly alarmed when a brisk firing, across
our house, commenced between the contending
armies. His first impulse - as it
always had been in trouble - was to fly to
his mistress for protection, and, jumping
from his bed, his head bandaged with a
white cloth, and looking like one just from
the grave, he passed through the firing as
fast as he could, screaming: "O mistess, take
kur o' me! Put me in yo' closet, and hide

me from de Yankees!" He fell at the door
exhausted. My mother had him brought in,
and a bed was made for him in the library.
She nursed him carefully, but he died in a
day or two from fright and exhaustion.

Soon after this came the surrender at Appomattox,
and negro slavery ended forever.

All was ruin around us, - tobacco factories
burned down, sugar and cotton plantations
destroyed. The negroes fled from these
desolated places, crowded together in
wretched shanties on the outskirts of towns
and villages, and found themselves, for the
first time in their lives, without enough to
eat, and with no class of people particularly
interested about their food, health, or comfort.
Rations were furnished them a short
time by the United States government, with
promises of money and land which were
never fulfilled. Impoverished by the war,
it was a relief to us no longer to have the
responsibility of supporting them. This
would, indeed, have been impossible in our
starving condition.

Years have passed, and the old homes have
been long deserted where the scenes I have

attempted to describe were enacted. The
heads of the families lie buried in the
old graveyards, while their descendants are
scattered from the Atlantic to the Pacific,
always holding sacred in memory the dear
old homes in Virginia.

The descendants of the negroes here portrayed, -
where are they? It would take a
long chapter, indeed, to tell of them. Many
are crowded on the outskirts of the towns
and villages North and South, in wretched
thriftlessness and squalor, yet content and
without ambition to alter their condition.

On the other hand, a good proportion of
the race seek to improve their opportunities
in schools and colleges, provided partly by
the aid of Northern friends, but principally
from taxes paid by their former owners in
spite of the impoverished condition of the
South.

Many have acquired independent homes,
with the laudable purpose of becoming useful
and respected citizens. The majority,
however, are best pleased with itinerary.

It is needless to say that those of the
latter class can never become desirable
domestics in a well-ordered, cleanly house.

And those whose youth has been passed in
schoolrooms, with no training in the habits
of refined life, have not acquired sufficient
education to avail much in the line of letters.
Thus the problem of their race remains
unsolved, even by those who know
it most intimately.

In the matter of classical education the
question occurs: Will the literature of the
one race meet the requirements of the other,
or the heroes and heroines of one be acceptable
to the other? Has not God given each
country its distinct race and literature?
The history of every country occupied by
antagonistic races has been that the stronger
has dominated or exterminated the other.

Thinking of the superficial education at
some of our schools, I am reminded of a
colored boy's subject for a composition.

Not long since a "colored scholar,"
seventeen
years old, with very fair intelligence,
who had never missed a day at the public
school, was asked by a white gentleman who
was much interested in the boy, and who
often took the trouble to explain to him
words in common use, the meaning of which
the boy was wholly ignorant, -

"Administration of Mr. Pierce!" exclaimed
the gentleman, himself an eminent
journalist and statesman. "And what could
you know about the administration of Mr.
Pierce? Did you ever hear of Mr. Pierce?"

"No, sir, I nuvver has."

. . . . .

The tie which once bound the two races
together is broken forever, and entire separation
in churches and schools prevents mutual
interest or intercourse.

Our church schools are doing much to
elevate and improve the negroes, and we
have to thank many kind, warm friends in
the North for timely aid in missionary boxes,
books, and Bibles to carry on the colored
Sunday-school work in which many Southern
people are deeply interested, without the
means of conducting them as they wish.

The negroes still have a strange belief in
what they call "tricking," and often the

most intelligent, when sick, will say they
have been "tricked," for which they have a
regular treatment and "trick doctors" among
themselves. This "tricking" we cannot
explain, and only know that when one
negro became angry with another he would
bury in front of his enemy's cabin door a
bottle filled with pieces of snakes, spiders,
bits of tadpole, and other curious substances;
and the party expecting to be "tricked"
would hang up an old horseshoe outside of
his door to ward off the "evil spirits."

Since alienated from their former owners
they are, as a general thing, more idle and
improvident; and, unfortunately, the tendency
of their political teaching has been to
make them antagonistic to the better class
of white people, which renders it difficult for
them to be properly instructed. That such
animosity should exist toward those who
could best understand and help them is to
be deplored. For the true negro character
cannot be fully comprehended or described
but by those who, like ourselves, have
always lived with them.

At present their lives are devoted to
a religious excitement which demoralizes

them, there seeming to be no connection
between their religion and morals. In one
of their Sabbath schools is a teacher who,
although often arrested for stealing, continues
to hold a high position in the church.

Their improvidence has passed into a
proverb, many being truly objects of charity;
and whoever would now write a true tale of
poverty and wretchedness may take for the
hero "Old Uncle Tom without a cabin."
For "Uncle Tom" of the olden time, in his
cabin, with a blazing log fire and plenty of
corn bread, and the Uncle Tom of to-day,
are pictures of very different individuals.

CHAPTER XVIII.

REVIEWING these
sketches of our early
days, I feel that they are incomplete without
a tribute to some of the teachers employed
to instruct us. Even in colonial
days our great-grandfathers had been sent to
England to be educated, so that education
was considered all-important in our family,
especially with my father, who exerted his
influence for public schools and advocated
teaching the negroes to read and write, contending
that this would increase their value
as well as their intelligence.

Determining that my sister and myself
should have proper educational advantages,
he engaged, while we were young children,
a most extraordinary woman to teach us - a
Danish lady, better versed in many other
languages than in our own. Her name
was Henriquez, and her masculine appearance,
mind, and manners were such as to
strike terror into the hearts of youthful

pupils. Having attended lectures at a college
in Copenhagen with several female
friends alike ambitious to receive a scientific
education, Mme. Henriquez scorned feminine
acquirements and acquaintances, never
possessing, to my knowledge, a needle or
thimble. Her conversation was largely confined
to scientific subjects, and was with
men whenever possible, rarely descending
to anything in common with her own sex.
Sometimes in school our recitations would
be interrupted by recollections of her early
days in Copenhagen, and, instead of pursuing
a lesson in geography or grammar, we
would be entertained with some marvelous
story about her father's palace, the marble
stable for his cows, etc. In the midst of
correcting a French or German exercise she
would sometimes order a waiter of refreshments
to be brought into the schoolroom
and placed before her on a small table which
had a history, being made, as she often
related, from a tree in her father's palace
grounds, around which the serfs danced on
the day of their emancipation. She had a
favorite dog named Odin which was allowed
the privilege of the schoolroom, and

This Danish lady was succeeded by one of
a wholly different type, all grace and accomplishments,
a Virginian, and the widow
of Major Lomax of the United States Army.

Mrs. Lomax had several accomplished
daughters who assisted in her school, and
the harp, piano, and guitar were household
instruments. The eldest daughter contributed
stories and verses, which were
greatly admired, to periodicals of that day.
One of these stories, published in a Northern
journal, won for her a prize of one hundred
dollars, and the school-girls were thrilled to
hear that she spent it all for a royal purple
velvet gown to wear to Miss Preston's wedding
in Montgomery County.

In this school Mrs. Lomax introduced a
charming corps of teachers from Boston,
most cultivated and refined women, whom
it will always be a pleasure to remember.
Among these were Mrs. Dana, with her
accomplished daughter, Miss Matilda Dana,
well known in the literary world then as a
writer of finished verses.

Besides these teachers we
had a German
gentleman, a finished pianist and linguist;
and the recollections of those days are like
the delicious music that floated around us
then from those master-musicians.

After such pleasant
school-days at home
we were sent away to a fashionable boarding-school
in the city of Richmond, presided
over by a lady of great dignity and gentleness
of manner, combined with high attainments.
She was first Mrs. Otis of Boston,
and afterward Mrs. Meade of Virginia.

At her school were
collected many interesting
teachers and pupils. Among the
former were Miss Prescott of Boston and
Miss Willis, sister of N. P. Willis, both lovable
and attractive.

Among the noted girls at
Mrs. Meade's
school was Amélie Rives
* of
Albemarle

County, Va. She spoke French fluently,
and seemed to know much about Paris and
the French court, her father having been
Minister to France.

We looked upon Amélie with great admiration,
and, as she wrote very pretty poetry,
every girl in the school set her heart upon
having some original verses in her album, a
favor which Amélie never refused.

Closing this chapter on schools suggests
the great difference in the objects and
methods of a Virginia girl's education then
and now. At that period a girl was expected
not only to be an ornament to the
drawing-room, but to be also equipped for
taking charge of an establishment and superintending
every detail of domestic employment
on a plantation - the weaving, knitting,
sewing, etc. - for the comfort of the negro
servants to be some day under her care. I
have thus seen girls laboriously draw the
threads of finest linen, and backstitch miles
of stitching on their brothers' collars and
shirt-bosoms. Having no brothers to sew
for, I looked on in amazement at this dreary
task, and I have since often wished that
those persevering and devoted women could

come back and live their lives over again in
the days of sewing-machines.

At that day the parents of a girl would have
shuddered at the thought of her venturing for
a day's journey without an escort on a railway
car, being jostled in a public crowd, or exposed
in any way to indiscriminate contact
with the outside world, while the proposition
of a collegiate course for a woman would have
shocked every sensibility of the opposite sex.

How the men of that time would stand
aghast to see the girl of the present day
elbowing her way through a crowd, buying
her ticket at the railway station, interviewing
baggage-agents, checking trunks, and seating
herself in the train to make a long journey
alone, perhaps to enter some strange community
and make her living by the practice
of law or medicine, lecturing, teaching, telegraphing,
newspaper-reporting, typewriting,
bookkeeping, or in some other of the various
avenues now open to women!

Whether the new system be any improvement
upon the old remains open for discussion.
It is certain that these widely opposed
methods must result in wholly different types
of feminine character.

CHAPTER XIX.

THE scenes connected
with the late war
will recall to the mind of every Southern
man and woman the name of Robert E. Lee -
a name which will be loved and revered as
long as home or fireside remains in old Virginia,
and which sets the crowning glory on
the list of illustrious men from plantation
homes. Admiration and enthusiasm naturally
belong to victory, but the man must be
rare indeed who in defeat, like General Lee,
receives the applause of his countrymen.

It was not alone his valor, his handsome
appearance, his commanding presence, his
perfect manner, which won the admiration
of his fellow-men. There was something
above and beyond all these - his true Christian
character. Trust in God ennobled his
every word and action. Among the grandest
of human conquerors was he, for, early enlisting
as a soldier of the Cross, to fight
against the world, the flesh, and the devil,

he fought the "good fight," and
the victor's
crown awaited him in the "kingdom not
made with hands."

Trust in God kept him calm in victory as
in defeat. When I remember General Lee
during the war, in his family circle at Richmond,
then at the height of his renown,
his manner, voice, and conversation were the
same as when, a year after the surrender, he
came to pay my mother a visit from his
Lexington home.

His circumstances and surroundings were
now changed: no longer the stars and
epaulets adorned his manly form; but,
dressed in a simple suit of pure white linen,
he looked a king, and adversity had wrought
no change in his character, manner, or conversation.

To reach our house he made a journey,
on his old war horse "Traveler," forty miles
across the mountains, describing which, on
the night of his arrival, he said:

"To-day an incident occurred which gratified
me more than anything that has happened
for a long time. As I was riding
over the most desolate mountain region,
where not even a cabin could be seen, I was

surprised to find, on a sudden turn in the
road, two little girls playing on a large rock.
They were very poorly clad, and after looking
a moment at me began to run away.
'Children,' said I, 'don't run away.
If you
could know who I am, you would know
that I am the last man in the world for anybody
to run from now.'

" 'But we do know you,'
they replied.

" 'You never saw me before,'
I said, 'for
I never passed along here.'

" 'But we do know you' they said.
'And
we've got your picture up yonder in the
house, and you are General Lee! And we
aint dressed clean enough to see you.'

"With this they scampered off to a poor
low hut on the mountain side."

It was gratifying to him to find that even
in this lonely mountain hut the children had
been taught to know and revere him.

He told us, too, of a man he met the same
day in a dense forest, who recognized him,
and, throwing up his hat in the air, said:
"General, please let me cheer you," and fell
to cheering with all his lungs!

when making a visit of several weeks at his
house the year before his death, although
not coming properly under the head of
"plantation reminiscences" may not be
inappropriate
here.

It has been said that a man is never a
hero to his valet; but this could not have
been said of General Lee, for those most
intimately connected with him could not
fail to see continually in his bearing and
character something above the ordinary
level, something of the hero.

At the time of my visit the Commencement
exercises of the college of which he
was president were going on. His duties
were necessarily onerous. Sitting up late at
night with the board of visitors, and attending
to every detail with his conscientious
particularity, there was little time for him to
rest. Yet every morning of that busy week
he was ready, with his prayer-book under
his arm, when the church bell called its
members to sunrise service.

It is pleasant to recall all that he said at
the breakfast, dinner, and tea table, where in
his hospitality he always insisted upon bringing
all who chanced to be at his house at

and precluded anything like undue familiarity.
All desirable qualities seemed united
in him to render him popular.

It was wonderful to observe - in the evenings
when his parlors were overflowing with
people, young and old, from every conceivable
place - how by a word, a smile, a shake
of the hand, he managed to give all pleasure
and satisfaction, each going away charmed
with him.

The applause of men excited in him no
vanity; for those around soon learned that
the slightest allusion or compliment, in his
presence, to his valor or renown, instead
of pleasing, rather offended him. Without
vanity, he was equally without selfishness.

One day, observing several quaint articles
of furniture about his house, and asking Mrs.
Lee where they came from, she told me that
an old lady in New York city - of whom
neither herself nor the general had ever
before heard - concluded to break up housekeeping.
Having no family, and not wishing
to sell or remove her furniture to a boardinghouse,
she determined to give it to "the
greatest living man," and that man was
General Lee.

She wrote a letter asking his acceptance
of the present, requesting that, if his house
was already furnished and he had no room,
he would use the articles about his college.

The boxes arrived. But - such was his
reluctance at receiving gifts - weeks passed
and he neither had them opened nor brought
to his house from the express office.

Finally, as their house was quite bare of
furniture, Mrs. Lee begged him to allow her
to have them opened, and he consented.

First there was among the contents a
beautiful carpet large enough for two rooms,
at which she was delighted, as they had
none. But the general, seeing it, quickly
said: "That is the very thing for the floor
of the new chapel! It must be put there."

Next were two sofas and a set of chairs.
"The very things we want," again exclaimed
the general, "for the platform of the new
chapel!"

Then they unpacked a sideboard. "This
will do very well," said the general, "to be
placed in the basement of the chapel to
hold the college papers!"

And so with everything the lady had sent,
only keeping for his own house the articles

which could not possibly be used for the
college or chapel, - a quaint work-table, an
ornamental clock, and some old-fashioned
preserve-dishes - although his own house
was then bare enough, and the donor had
particularly requested that only those articles
which they did not need at their home
should go to the college.

The recollection of this visit, although
reviving many pleasant hours, is very sad,
for it was the last time I saw the dear, kind
face of Mrs. Lee, of whom the general
once said, when one of us, alluding to him,
used the word "hero":
"My dear, Mrs. Lee
is the hero. For although deprived of the
use of her limbs by suffering, and unable for
ten years to walk, I have never heard her
murmur or utter one complaint."

And the general spoke truly, - Mrs. Lee
was a heroine. With gentleness, kindness,
and true feminine delicacy, she had strength
of mind and character a man might have envied.
Her mind, well stored and cultivated,
made her interesting in conversation; and
a simple cordiality of manner made her
beloved by all who met her.

about her early days at Arlington - her
own and her ancestors' plantation home -
and in one of these conversations gave me
such a beautiful sketch of her mother -
Mrs. Custis - that I wish her every word
could be remembered that I might write it
here.

Mrs. Custis was a woman of saintly piety,
her devotion to good works having long
been a theme with all in that part of Virginia.
She had only one child - Mrs. Lee -
and possessed a very large fortune. In early
life she felt that God had given her a special
mission, which was to take care of and
teach the three hundred negroes she had
inherited.

"Believing this," said Mrs. Lee to me,
"my mother devoted the best years of her
life to teaching these negroes, for which
purpose she had a school-house built in the
yard, and gave her life up to this work; and
I think it an evidence of the ingratitude of
their race that, although I have long been afflicted,
only one of those negroes has written
to inquire after me, or offered to nurse me."

These last years of Mrs. Lee's life were
passed in much suffering, she being unable to

move any part of her body except her hands
and head. Yet her time was devoted to
working for her church. Her fingers were
always busy with fancy-work, painting, or
drawing, - she was quite an accomplished
artist, - the results of which were sold for
the purpose of repairing and beautifying the
church in sight of her window, and as much
an object of zeal and affection with her as
the chapel was with the general.

Indeed, the whole family entered into the
general's enthusiasm about this chapel, just
then completed, especially his daughter
Agnes, with whom I often went there, little
thinking it was so soon to be her place of
burial.

In a few short years all three - General
Lee, his wife and daughter - were laid here
to rest, and this chapel they had loved so
well became their tomb.

CHAPTER XX.

ALL plantation
reminiscences resemble a
certain patchwork, made when we were
children, of bright pieces joined with black
squares. The black squares were not pretty,
but if left out the character of the quilt was
lost. And so with the black faces - if left
out of our home pictures of the past, the
character of the picture is destroyed.

What I have written is a simple record of
facts in my experience, without an imaginary
scene or character; intended for the descendants
of those who owned slaves in the
South, and who may in future wish to know
something of the lofty character and virtues
of their ancestors.

The pictures are strictly true; and should
it be thought by any that the brightest have
alone been selected, I can only say I knew
no others.

It would not be possible for any country
to be entirely exempt from crime and wickedness,

and in Virginia, too, these existed;
for prisons, penitentiaries, and courts of justice
were here, as elsewhere, necessary; but
it is my sincere belief that the majority of
Southern people were true and good. And
that they have accomplished more than any
other nation toward civilizing and elevating
the negro race may be shown from the following
paragraph in a late magazine:

"From a very early date the French had
their establishment on the western coast of
Africa. In 1364 their ships visited that portion
of the world. But with all this long
intercourse with the white man the natives
have profited little. Five centuries have not
civilized them, so as to be able to build up
institutions of their own. Yet the French
have always succeeded better than the
English with the negro and Indian element."

Civilization and education are slow; for,
says a modern writer:

"After the death of Roman intellectual
activity, the seventh and eighth centuries
were justly called dark. If Christianity was
to be one of the factors in producing the
present splendid enlightenment, she had no
time to lose, and she lost no time. She was

the only power at that day that could begin
the work of enlightenment. And, starting
at the very bottom, she wrought for nine
hundred years alone. The materials she had
to work upon were stubborn and unmalleable.
For one must be somewhat civilized
to have a taste for knowledge at all; and one
must know something to be civilized at all.
She had to carry on the double work of civilizing
and educating. Her progress was
necessarily slow at first. But after some
centuries it began to increase in arithmetical
progression until the sixteenth century."

Then our ancestors performed a great
work - the work allotted them by God, civilizing
and elevating an inferior race in the
scale of intelligence and comfort. That this
race may continue to improve, and finally
be the means of carrying the Gospel into
their native Africa, should be the prayer of
every earnest Christian.

Never again will the negroes find a people
so kind and true to them as the Southerners
have been.

There is much in our lives not intended
for us to comprehend or explain; but, believing
that nothing happens by chance, and